•     •   •  •  •   ^  / 


LEILA, 


THE  SIEGE  OF  GRANADA; 

AND 

CALDERON,  THE  COURTIER. 


*  * 


'RINTEJ)    BV    CRAPELET,    9,    RUE    UF.    VAUGIRARI 


LEILA, 


OR 


THE  SIEGE  OF  GRANADA; 


AND 


CALDERON,  THE  COURTIER; 

BY   E.  L.  BULWER,  Esq. 

AUTHOR    OF    ''PELHAM,"    "EUGENE    AH  AM  ,  "     "RIENZI,"     ^(« 


M^<KH«»^ ^4  tip 


PARIS, 

PUBLISHED  BY  A.  AND  W.  GALIGNANI  AXD  C  . , 

N"   J8,  RUE  VIVIEN>'E. 

1838. 


TO 

THE  RIGHT  HO.XOURABLE 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  BLESSHnGTON, 

BY  0_\E 

WHO    WISHES    HE    COULD    HAVE    FOLND 

A    MORE    DURABLE    3!0.\UMEM 

WHEREON  TO  ENGRAVE 

vl  illrmorial 

OF 

REAL   FRIENDSHIP. 
London,  1838. 


LEILA, 


OR 


THE  SIEGE  OF  GRANADA 


BOOK    I. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE   ENCHANTER    AND    THE  AVARRIOR. 


It  was  the  summer  of  the  year  1491 ,  and  the  armies  of 
Ferdinand  and  Isabel  invested  the  city  of  Granada. 

The  night  was  not  far  advanced;  and  the  moon ,  which 
broke  through  the  transparent  air  of  Andalusia,  shone 
calmly  over  the  immense  and  murmuring  encampment  of 
the  Spanish  foe  ,  and  touched  with  a  hazy  light  the  snow- 
capped summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada ,  contrasting  the  ver- 
dure and  luxuriance  w^hich  no  devastation  of  man  could 
utterly  sweep  from  the  beautiful  vale  below. 

In  the  streets  of  the  ^Moorish  city  many  a  group  still 
lingered.  Some  ,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  beleaguering  war 
without,  were  listening  in  quiet  indolence  to  the  strings  of 
the  Moorish  lute,  or  the  lively  tale  of  some  Arabian  improv- 
visatore  •,  others  were  conversing  with  such  eager  and  ani- 
mated gestures,  as  no  ordinary  excitement  could  wring  from 
the  stately  calm  habitual  to  every  oriental  people.  But  the 
more  public  places  ,  in  which  gathered  these  different 


4  LEILA  , 

groups ,  only  the  more  impressively  heightened  the  desolate 
and  solemn  repose  that  brooded  over  the  rest  of  the  city. 

At  this  time,  a  man,  \Yith  downcast  eyes,  and  arms  fold- 
ed within  the  sweeping  gown  which  descended  to  his  feet , 
w^as  seen  passing  through  the  streets,  alone,  and  appa- 
rently unobservant  of  all  around  him.  Yet  this  indifference 
was  by  no  means  shared  by  the  straggling  crowds  through 
which ,  from  time  to  time ,  he  musingly  swept. 

"  God  is  great!"  said  one  man^  "  it  is  the  Enchanter 
Almamen." 

''  He  hath  locked  up  the  manhood  of  Boabdil  el  Chico 
with  the  key  of  his  spells,"  quoth  another,  stroking  his 
beard.    "  I  would  curse  him ,  if  I  dared." 

"  But  they  say  that  he  hath  promised  that  when  man 
fails  ,  the  genii  will  light  for  Granada ,"  observed  a  fourth , 
doubtingly. 

"  Allah  Akbarl  what  is,  is  I  what  shall  be,  shall  be!" 
said  a  fifth ,  with  all  the  solemn  sagacity  of  a  prophet. 

^Yhatever  their  feelings  ,  whether  of  awe  or  execration , 
terror  or  hope ,  each  group  gave  w^ay  as  Almamen  passed , 
and  hushed  the  murmurs  not  intended  for  his  ear.  :Passing 
through  the  Zacatin  (the  street  which  traversed  the  Great 
Bazaar ) ,  the  ( so-styled )  enchanter  ascended  a  narrow  and 
winding  street,  and  arrived  at  last  before  the  walls  that  en- 
circled the  palace  and  fortress  of  the  Alhambra. 

The  sentry  at  the  gate  saluted  and  admitted  him  in 
silence  ^  and  in  a  few  moments  his  form  was  lost  in  the 
solitude  of  groves  ,  amidst  which  ,  at  frequent  openings  , 
the  spray  of  Arabian  fountains  glittered  in  the  moonlight  ^ 
while ,  above ,  rose  the  castled  heights  of  the  Alhambra  ^ 
and  on  the  right ,  those  Vermilion  Towers ,  whose  origin 
veils  itself  in  the  furthest  ages  of  Phoenician  enterprise. 

Almamen  paused ,  and  surveyed  the  scene.  "  Was  Aden 
more  lovely?"  he  muttered^  "  and  shall  so  fair  a  spot  be 
trodden  by  the  victor  Nazarene?  What  matters?  creed 
chases  creed  —  race ,  race  —  until  time  comes  back  to  its 


on    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRAISADA.  5 

starting  place  ,  and  beholds  the  reign  restored  to  the  eldest 
faith  and  the  eldest  tribe.  The  horn  of  our  strength  shall 
be  exalted." 

At  these  thoughts  the  seer  relapsed  into  silence,  and 
gazed  long  and  intently  upon  the  stars ,  as ,  more  nume- 
rous and  brilliant  with  every  step  of  the  advancing  night, 
their  rays  broke  on  the  playful  waters  ,  and  tinged  with  sil- 
ver the  various  and  breathless  foliage.  So  earnest  was  his 
gaze ,  and  so  absorbed  his  thoughts ,  that  he  did  not  per- 
ceive the  approach  of  a  Moor ,  whose  glittering  weapons 
and  snow-white  turban  ,  rich  with  emeralds ,  cast  a  gleam 
through  the  wood. 

The  new  comer  was  above  the  common  size  of  his  race  , 
generally  small  and  spare ,  but  without  attaining  the  lofty 
stature  and  large  proportions  of  the  more  redoubted  of  the 
warriors  of  Spain.  But  in  his  presence  and  mien  there  was 
something  which,  in  the  haughtiest  conclave  of  Christian 
chivalry  ,  would  have  seemed  to  tower  and  command.  He 
walked  with  a  step  at  once  light  and  stately ,  as  if  it  spurned 
the  earth  •,  and  in  the  carriage  of  the  small  erect  head  and 
stag-like  throat ,  there  was  that  undefinable  and  imposing 
dignity ,  which  accords  so  well  with  our  conception  of  a 
heroic  Hneage,  and  a  noble  though  imperious  spirit.  The 
stranger  approached  Almamen ,  and  paused  abruptly  when 
within  a  few  steps  of  the  enchanter.  He  gazed  upon  him 
in  silence  for  some  moments  ^  and ,  when  at  length  he  spoke, 
it  was  with  a  cold  and  sarcastic  tone. 

"  Pretender  to  the  dark  secrets ,"  said  he  ,  "  is  it  in  the 
stars  that  thou  art  reading  those  destinies  of  men  and  na- 
tions ,  which  the  Prophet  wrought  by  the  chieftain's  brain 
and  the  soldier's  arm?" 

"  Prince,"  replied  Almamen,  turning  slowly,  and  recog- 
nising the  intruder  on  his  meditations,  "  I  was  but  consi- 
dering how  many  revolutions  ,  which  have  shaken  earth  to 
its  centre ,  those  orbs  have  witnessed ,  unsympathising  and 
unchanged." 


6  LEILA  , 

"  Unsympathising  I  "  repeated  the  Moor —  ".  yet  thou 
believest  in  their  effect  upon  the  earth? ' 

"  You  wrong  me,"  answered  Almamen,  with  a  slight 
smiley  "you  confound  your  servant  with  that  vain  race, 
the  astrologers." 

"  I  deemed  astrology  a  part  of  the  science  of  the  two 
Angels ,  Harut  and  Marut  \" 

"  Possibly  5  but  I  know  not  that  science,  though  I  have 
wandered  at  midnight  by  the  ancient  Babel." 

"  Fame  lies  to  us  then ,"  answered  the  Moor ,  with  some 
surprise. 

"  Fame  never  made  pretence  to  truth  ,"  said  Almamen  , 
calmly,  and  proceeding  on  his  way ;  ''  Allah  be  with  you , 
prince !  I  seek  the  king." 

"  Stay  I  I  have  just  quitted  his  presence ,  and  left  him  , 
I  trust ,  with  thoughts  worthy  of  the  sovereign  of  Granada , 
which  I  would  not  have  a  stranger ,  and  a  man  whose 
arms  are  not  spear  nor  shield ,  break  in  upon  and  disturb." 

'•  iNoble  Muza ,"  returned  Almamen  ,  "  fear  not  that  my 
voice  will  weaken  the  inspirations  which  thine  hath  breath- 
ed into  the  breast  of  Boabdil.  Alas  I  if  my  counsel  were 
heeded,  thou  wouldst  hear  the  warriors  of  Granada  talk 
less  of  Muza  ,  and  more  of  the  king.  But  Fate ,  or  Allah , 
hath  placed  upon  the  throne  of  a  tottering  dynasty ,  one 
who  ,  though  brave ,  is  weak  —  though  wise  ,  a  dreamer  ^ 
and  you  suspect  the  adviser ,  when  you  find  the  influence 
of  nature  on  the  advised.    Is  this  just?" 

Muza  gazed  long  and  sternly  on  the  face  of  Almamen  ^ 
then  ,  putting  his  hand  gently  on  the  enchanter's  shoulder , 
he  said  — 

"  Stranger,  if  thou  playest  us  false ,  think  that  this  arm 
hath  cloven  the  casque  of  many  a  foe,  and  will  not  spare  the 
turban  of  a  traitor!" 

'  The  science  of  magic.  II  was  taught  by  the  Angels  named  in  the  text:  for 
which  offence  they  are  still  supposed  to  be  confined  in  the  ancient  Babel.  There 
ihoy  may  yet  be  consulted,  though  they  are  rarely  seen.  ~  YulluV odin  Yahya.  ~ 
Sales  Roran. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAXADA.  7 

"  And  think  thou ,  proud  prince  I"  returned  Almamen  , 
unijuailing  ,  "  that  1  answer  alone  to  Allah  lor  my  motives, 
and  that  against  man  my  deeds  I  can  defend  I" 

With  these  words ,  the  enchanter  drew  his  long  robe 
round  him ,  and  disappeared  amidst  the  fohage. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    KING    WITHIN    HIS    PALACE. 


In  one  of  those  apartments,  the  luxury  of  which  is  kiown 
only  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  genial  climate  (half  chamber 
and  half  grotto),  reclined  a  young  Moor,  in  a  thoughtful 
and  musing  attitude. 

The  ceiling  of  cedar-wood,  glowing  with  gold  and  azure, 
was  supported  by  slender  shafts,  of  the  whitest  alabaster, 
between  which  were  open  arcades ,  light  and  graceful  as 
the  arched  vineyards  of  Italy ,  and  wrought  in  that  deli- 
cate filigree  work  common  to  the  Arabian  architecture  : 
through  these  arcades  was  seen  at  intervals  the  lapsing  fall 
of  waters  ,  lighted  by  alabaster  lamps  ^  and  their  tinkling 
music  sounded  with  a  fresh  and  regular  murmur  upon  the 
ear.  The  whole  of  one  side  of  this  apartment  was  open  to 
a  broad  and  extensive  balcony ,  which  overhung  the  banks 
of  the  winding  and  moonlit  Darro:  and  in  the  clearness  of 
the  soft  night  might  be  distinctly  seen  the  undulating  hills , 
the  woods  ,  and  orange-groves  ,  which  still  form  the  unri- 
valled landscapes  of  Granada. 

The  pavement  was  spread  with  ottomans  and  couches 
of  the  richest,  azure .  prodigally  enriched  with  quaint  de- 
signs in  broideries  of  gold  and  silver  ^  and  over  that  on 
which  the  Moor  reclined,  facing  the  open  balcony,  were 
suspended  ,  on  a  pillar,  the  round  shield  .  the  light  javelin , 


8  LEILA  , 

and  the  curving  cimiter,  of  Moorish  warfare.  So  studded 
were  these  arms  with  jewels  of  rare  cost,  that  they  might 
alone  have  sufficed  to  indicate  the  rank  of  the  evident 
owner,  even  if  his  own  gorgeous  vestments  had  not  be- 
trayed it.  An  open  manuscript ,  on  a  silver  table,  lay  un- 
read before  the  Moor ,  as ,  leaning  his  face  upon  his  hand , 
he  looked  with  abstracted  eyes  along  the  mountain  sum- 
mit, dimly  distinguished  from  the  cloudless  and  far  horizon. 

No  one  could  have  gazed  without  a  vague  emotion  of 
interest ,  mixed  with  melancholy ,  upon  the  countenance 
of  the  inmate  of  that  luxurious  chamber.  There  was  in  it 
much  of  that  ineffable  presentiment  of  doom  and  disaster 
which  we  think  to  recognise  on  the  features  of  our  own 
Charles  the  First. 

Its  beauty  was  singularly  stamped  with  a  grave  and  state- 
ly sadness ,  which  was  made  still  more  impressive  by  its 
air  of  youth,  and  the  unwonted  fairness  of  the  complexion  : 
unlike  the  attributes  of  the  Moorish  race,  the  hair  and  curl- 
ing beard  were  of  a  deep  golden  colour  *,  and  on  the  broad 
forehead ,  and  in  the  large  eyes ,  was  that  settled  and  con- 
templative mildness  which  rarely  softens  the  swart  linea- 
ments of  the  fiery  children  of  the  sun.  Such  was  the  per- 
sonal appearance  of  Boabdil  el  Chico,  the  last  of  the  Moorish 
dynasty  in  Spain. 

*' These  scrolls  of  Arabian  learning,"  said  Boabdil  to 
himself,  "what  to  they  teach?  to  despise  wealth  and  power, 
to  hold  the  heart  to  be  the  true  empire.  This ,  then  ,  is 
wisdom.  Yet,  if  I  follow  these  maxims ,  am  I  wise  ?  alas ! 
the  whole  world  would  call  me  a  driveller  and  a  madman. 
Thus  is  it  ever ;  the  wisdom  of  the  Intellect  fills  us  with  pre- 
cepts which  it  is  the  wisdom  of  Action  to  despise.  O  Holy 
Prophet !  what  fools  men  would  be ,  if  their  knavery  did 
not  eclipse  their  folly  I " 

The  young  king  listlessly  threw  himself  back  on  his 
cushions  as  he  uttered  these  words  ,  too  philosophical  for 
a  king  whose  crown  sate  so  loosely  on  his  brow. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAINADA.  9 

Alter  a  few  moments  of  thought  that  appeared  to  dissa- 
tisfy and  disquiet  him.  Boabdil  again  turned  impatiently 
round  :  "  My  soul  wants  the  bath  of  music,"  said  he-,  "these 
journeys  into  a  pathless  realm  have  wearied  it,  and  the 
streams  of  sound  supple  and  relax  the  travailed  pilgrim.' 

He  clapped  his  hands ,  and  from  one  of  the  arcades  a 
boy,  hitherto  invisible ,  started  into  sight :  at  a  slight  and 
scarce  perceptible  sign  from  the  king  ,  the  boy  again  va- 
nished, and  in  a  few  moments  afterwards ,  glancing  through 
the  fairy  pillars,  §nd  by  the  glittering  waterfalls,  came  the 
small  and  twinkling  feet  of  the  maids  of  Araby.  As  ,  with 
their  transparent  tunics  and  white  arms  ,  they  gleamed , 
without  an  echo  through  that  cool  and  voluptuous  chamber, 
they  might  well  have  seemed  the  Peris  of  the  eastern  ma- 
gic, summoned  to  beguile  the  sated  leisure  of  a  youthful 
Solomon.  With  them  came  a  maiden  of  more  exquisite 
beauty,  though  smaller  stature  ,  than  the  rest,  bearing  the 
light  Moorish  lute ;  and  a  faint  and  languid  smile  broke 
over  the  beautiful  face  of  Boabdil ,  as  his  eyes  rested  upon 
her  graceful  form ,  and  the  dark  yet  glowing  lustre  of  her 
oriental  countenance.  She  alone  approached  the  king,  ti- 
midly kissed  his  hand  ,  and  then  ,  joining  her  comrades  , 
commenced  the  following  song ,  to  the  air  and  very  words 
of  which  the  feet  of  the  dancing-girls  kept  time,  while  with 
the  chorus,  rang  the  silver  bells  of  the  musical  instrument 
which  each  of  the  dancers  carried. 


Soflly,  oh,  softly  glide, 
Gentle  Music,  thou  silver  tide. 
Bearing  ,  the  lull'd  air  along, 
This  leaf  from  the  Rose  of  Song ! 

To  its  port  in  his  soul  let  it  float , 

The  frail,  but  the  fragrant  boat. 

Bear  it  soft  Air  along  I 


10  LEILA 


With  the  burthen  of  Sound  >Ye  arc  laden  , 
Like  the  bells  on  the  trees  of  Aden  ' , 
When  they  thrill  with  a  tinkling  tone 
At  the  Wind  from  the  Holy  Throne. 
Hark  ,  as  we  move  around 
We  shake  off  the  buds  of  Sound ;  — 
Thy  presence  ,  Belov'd  ,  is  Aden 


IL 


Sweet  chime  that  I  hear  and  wake  : 
I  would ,  for  my  lov'd  one's  sake , 
That  I  were  a  sound  like  thee  , 
To  the  depths  of  his  heart  to  flee. 

If  my  breath  had  his  senses  blest ; 

If  my  voice  in  his  heart  could  rest ; 
What  pleasure  to  die  like  thee ! 


The  music  ceased  ^  the  dancers  remained  motionless  in 
their  graceful  postures ,  as  if  arrested  into  statues  of  ala- 
baster^ and  the  young  songstress  cast  herself  on  a  cushion 
at  the  feet  of  the  monarch ,  and  looked  up  fondly ,  but  si- 
lently, into  his  yet  melancholy  eyes,  — when  a  man,  whose 
entrance  had  not  been  noticed ,  was  se^i  to  stand  within 
the  chamber. 

He  was  about  the  middle  stature  ,  —  lean ,  muscular,  and 
strongly  though  sparely  built.  A  plain  black  robe ,  some- 
thing in  the  fashion  of  the  Armenian  gown ,  hung  long 
and  loosely  over  a  tunic  of  bright  scarlet,  girded  by  a  broad 
belt,  from  the  centre  of  which  was  suspended  a  small  golden 
key ,  while  at  the  left  side  appeared  the  jewelled  hilt  of  a 
crooked  dagger.  His  features  were  cast  in  a  larger  and 
grander  mould  than  was  common  amongst  the  Moors  of 
Spain  :  the  forehead  was  broad,  massive,  and  singularly 
high ,  and  the  dark  eyes  of  unusual  size  and  brilliancy  ^  his 

•  The  Mahometans  believe  thai  musical  bells  hang  on  the  trees  of  Paradise,  and 
are  put  in  motion  by  a  wind  from  the  throne  of  God. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA^ADA.  H 

beard ,  short ,  black,  and  glossy,  curled  upward  ,  and  con- 
cealed all  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  save  a  firm ,  compress- 
ed ,  and  resolute  expression  in  the  lips,  which  were  large 
and  full  ^  the  nose  was  high ,  aquiline ,  and  well-shaped  ; 
and  the  whole  character  of  the  head  (which  \vas,  for  sym- 
metry, on  too  large  and  gigantic  a  scale  as  proportioned 
to  the  form )  was  indicative  of  extraordinary  energy  and 
power.  At  the  first  glance,  the  stranger  might  have  seemed 
scarce  on  the  borders  of  middle  age ;  but ,  on  a  more  care- 
ful examination ,  the  deep  lines  and  wrinkles  ,  marked  on 
the  forehead  and  round  the  eyes ,  betrayed  a  more  ad- 
vanced period  of  life.  With  arms  folded  on  his  breast ,  he 
stood  by  the  side  of  the  king,  waiting  in  silence  the  moment 
when  his  presence  should  be  perceived. 

He  did  not  wait  long-,  the  eyes  and  gesture  of  the  girl 
nestled  at  the  feet  of  Boabdil  drew  the  king's  attention  to 
the  spot  where  the  stranger  stood  :  his  eye  brightened 
when  it  fell  upon  him. 

"  Ahnamen,"  cried  Boabdil,  eagerly,  "you  are  wel- 
come." As  he  spoke ,  he  motioned  to  the  dancing-girls  to 
withdraw\ 

"  May  I  not  rest?  O  core  of  my  heart ,  thy  bird  is  in 
its  home,"  murmured  the  songstress  at  the  king's  feet. 

"  Sweet  Amine,"  answered  Boabdil,  tenderly  smoothing 
down  her  ringlets  as  he  bent  to  kiss  her  brow : "  you  should 
witness  only  my  hours  of  dehght.  Toil  and  business  have 
nought  with  thee ;  I  will  join  thee  ere  yet  the  nightingale 
hymns  his  last  music  to  the  moon."  Amine  sighed  ,  .rose , 
and  vanished  with  her  companions. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  king,  when  alone  with  Alma- 
men,  "  your  counsels  often  soothe  me  into  quiet,  yet  in 
such  hours  quiet  is  a  crime.  But  what  do?  —  how  struggle? 
—  how  act?  Alas!  at  the  hour  of  his  birth  rightly  did  they 
afiix  to  the  name  of  Boabdil  the  epithet  of  /:l  Zogoyhi  \ 


The  Lnluck> 


12  LEILA  , 

Misfortune  set  upon  my  brow  her  dark  and  fated  stamp  ere 
yet  my  lips  could  shape  a  prayer  against  her  power.  My 
fierce  father,  whose  frown  was  as  the  frown  of  Azrael , 
hated  me  in  my  cradle  ^  in  my  youth  my  name  was  invoked 
by  rebels  against  my  will  5  imprisoned  by  my  father,  with 
the  poison-bowl  or  the  dagger  hourly  before  my  eyes ,  I 
was  saved  only  by  the  artifice  of  my  mother.  When  age 
and  infirmity  broke  the  iron  sceptre  of  the  king,  my  claims 
to  the  throne  were  set  aside,  and  my  uncle,  El  Zagal, 
usurped  my  birthright.  Amidst  open  war  and  secret  treason 
I  wrestled  for  my  crown :  and  now,  the  sole  sovereign  of 
Granada,  when,  as  1  fondly  imagined,  my  uncle  had  lost-all 
claim  on  the  affections  of  my  people  by  succumbing  to  the 
Christian  king,  and  accepting  a  fief  under  his  dominion,  I 
find  that  the  very  crime  of  El  Zagal  is  fixed  upon  me  by  my 
unhappy  subjects — that  they  deem  he  would  not  have 
yielded  but  for  my  supineness.  At  the  moment  of  my  de- 
livery from  my  rival,  I  am  received  with  execration  by  my 
subjects,  and,  driven  into  this  m.y  fortress  of  the  Alhambra, 
dare  not  venture  to  head  my  armies,  or  to  face  my  people^ 
yet  am  I  called  weak  and  irresolute,  when  strength  and 
courage  are  forbid  me.  And  as  the  water  glides  from  yonder 
rock,  that  hath  no  power  to  retain  it,  I  see  the  tide  of  em- 
pire welling  from  my  hands." 

The  young  king  spoke  warmly  and  bitterly  ^  and,  in  the 
irritation  of  his  thoughts,  strode,  while  he  spoke,  with 
rapid  and  irregular  strides,  along  the  chamber.  Almamen 
marked  his  emotion  with  an  eye  and  lip  of  rigid  com- 
posure. 

"Light  of  the  faithful,"  said  he,  when  Boabdil  had  con- 
cluded, "the  powers  above  never  doom  man  to  perpetual 
sorrow,  nor  perpetual  joy  :  the  cloud  and  the  sunshine  are 
alike  essential  to  the  heaven  of  our  destinies ;  and  if  thou 
hast  suffered  in  thy  youth,  thou  hast  exhausted  the  cala- 
mities .of  fate,  and  thy  manhood  will  be  glorious,  and  thine 
iige  serene." 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GUAAVDA.  13 

"  TIlou  speakest  as  if  the  armies  of  Ferdinand  were  not 
already  around  my  walls,"  said  Boabdil,  impatiently. 

"The  armies  of  Sennacherib  were  as  mighty,"  answered 
Almamen. 

"Wise  seer,"  returned  the  king,  in  a  tone  half  sarcastic 
and  half  solemn,  "we,  the  Musselmen  of  Spain,  are  not 
the  blind  fanatics  of  the  eastern  world.  On  us  have  fallen 
the  lights  of  philosophy  and  science-,  and  if  the  more  clear- 
sighted among  us  yet  outwardly  reverence  the  forms  and 
fables  worshipped  by  the  multitude,  it  is  from  the  wisdom 
of  policy,  not  the  folly  of  belief.  Talk  not  to  me,  then,  of 
thine  examples  of  the  ancient  and  elder  creeds  :  the  agents 
of  God  for  this  world  are  now,  at  least,  in  men,  not  angels  \ 
and  if  I  wait  till  Ferdinand  share  the  destiny  of  Sennacherib, 
I  wait  only  till  the  Standard  of  the  Cross  w^ave  above  the 
Vermilion  Towers." 

"  Yet ,"  said  Almamen,  "  while  my  lord  the  king  rejects 
the  fanaticism  of  belief,  doth  he  reject  the  fanaticism  of  per- 
secution? You  disbelieve  the  storie?s  of  the  Hebrews^  yet 
you  suffer  the  Hebrews  themselves,  that  ancient  and 
kindred  Arabian  race,  to  be  ground  to  the  dust,  condemned 
and  tortured  by  yourjudges,  your  informers,  your  soldiers, 
and  your  subjects." 

"The  base  misers!  they  deserve  their  fate,"  answered 
Boabdil,  loftily.  "Gold  is  their  god,  and  the  market-place 
their  country ;  amidst  the  tears  and  groans  of  nations,  they 
sympathise  only  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  trade ;  and ,  the 
thieves  of.  the  universe  I  while  their  hand  is  against  every 
man's  coffer,  why  wonder  that  they  provoke  the  hand  of 
every  man  against  their  throats?  Worse  than  the  tribe  of 
Hanifa,  who  eat  their  god  only  in  time  of  famine  %  the  race 
of  MoisaMvould  sell  the  Seven  Heavens  for  the  dent  ^  on 
the  back  of  the  date  stone." 


'  The  tribe  of  Hanifa  worshipped  a  lump  of  dough. 

"  Moisa,  Moses. 

2  A  proverb  used  in  the  Koran,  signifying  the  s^mallcst  possible  trifit 


14  LEILA  , 

*'  Your  laws  leave  them  no  ambition  hut  that  of  avarice ," 
replied  Almamen-  "  and,  as  the  plant  will  crook  and  dis- 
tort its  trunk  ,  to  raise  its  head  ,  through  every  obstacle ,  to 
the  suri,  so  the  mind  of  man  twists  and  perverts  itself,  if 
legitimate  openings  are  denied  it ,  to  find  its  natural  element 
in  the  gale  of  power,  or  the  sunshine  of  esteem.  These 
Hebrews  were  not  tralllckers  and  misers  in  their  own  sacred 
land,  when  they  routed  your  ancestors,  the  Arab  armies 
of  old^  and  gnawed  the  flesh  from  their  bones  in  fa- 
mine, rather  than  yield  a  weaker  city  than  Granada  to 
a  mightier  force  than  the  holiday  lords  of  Spain.  Let  this 
pass.  My  lord,  who  rejects  the  belief  in  the  agencies  of  the 
angels,  doth  be  still  retain  belief  in  the  wisdom  of  mortal 
men?" 

"  Yes  I"  returned  Boabdii,  quickly  5  "  for  of  the  one  I 
know  naught ,  —  of  the  other,  mine  own  senses  can  be  the 
judge.  Almamen,  my  fiery  kinsman,  Muza,  hath  this 
evening  been  with  me.  He  hath  urged  me  to  reject  the 
fears  against  my  people,  that  chain  my  panting  spirit  within 
these  walls  :  he  hath  urged  me  to' gird  on  yonder  shield 
and  cimiter,  and  to  appear  in  the  Vivarrambla  ,  at  the  head 
of  the  nobles  of  Granada.  My  heart  leaps  high  at  the 
thought !  and,  if  I  cannot  live ,  at  least  I  will  die  —  a  king  I " 

"  It  is  nobly  spoken  ,"  said  Almamen ,  coldly. 

''  You  approve ,  then  ,  my  design? " 

"  The  friends  of  the  king  cannot  approve  the  ambition 
of  the  king  to  die." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Boabdii ,  in  an  altered  voice  ^  "  thou  think- 
est ,  then ,  that  I  am  doomed  to  perish  in  this  struggle  ? " 

"  As  the  hour  shall  be  chosen  ,  wilt  thou  fall  or 
triumph." 

"  And  that  hour?" 

"  Is  not  yet  come." 

"  Dost  thou  read  the  hour  in  the  stars?" 

''Let  Moorish  seers  cultivate  that  franctic  credulity; 
thv  servant  sees  but  in  the  stars  svorlds  mightier  than  this 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  15 

little  eartb  ,  whose  light  would  neither  wane  nor  wink  ,  it 
earth  itself  were  swept  from  the  infinities  of  space." 

•'  Alysterious  man!"  said  Boabdih  ''  whence,  then  ,  is 
thy  power?  whence  thy  knowledge  of  the  future?" 

Almamen  approached  the  king ,  as  he  now  stood  by  the 
open  balcony. 

"  Behold:'"  said  he,  pointuig  to  the  wateis  of  the  Darro 
—  '•  yonder  stream  is  of  an  element  m  which  man  cannot 
■  live  nor  breathe  :  above  •.  in  the  thin  and  impalpable  air , 
our  steps  cannot  find  a  footing,  the  armies  of  all  earth  can- 
not build  an  empire.  And  yet ,  by  the  exercise  of  a  little 
art,  the  fishes  and  the  birds,  the  inhabitants  of  the  air 
and  the  water,  minister  to  our  most  humble  wants,  the 
most  common  of  our  enjoyments  :  so  is  it  with  the  true 
science  of  enchantment.  Thinkest  thou  that ,  while  the 
petty  surface  of  the  world  is  crowded  with  living  things  , 
there  is  no  life  in  the  vast  centre  within  the  earth  .  and  the 
immense  ether  that  surrounds  it  ?  As  the  fisherman  snares 
his  prey  ,  as  the  fowler  entraps  the  bird  :  so  ,  by  the  art  and 
genius  of  our  humanmind  ,  we  may  thrall  and  command 
the  subtler  beings  of  realms  and  elements  which  our  ma- 
terial bodies  cannot  enter  —  our  gross  senses  cannot  sur- 
vey. This  ,  then ,  is  my  lore.  Of  other  worlds  know  1 
naught :  but  of  the  things  of  this  world ,  whether  men,  or, 
as  your  legends  term  them  ,  ghouls  and  genii ,  1  have  learn- 
ed something.  To  the  future  I  myself  am  blind;  but  I  can 
invoke  and  conjure  up  those  whose  eyes  are  more  piercing . 
whose  natures  are  more  gifted." 

•'  Prove  to  me  thy  power,"  said  Boabdil ,  awed  less  by 
the  words  than  by  the  thrilling  voice  and  ihe  impressive  as- 
pect of  the  enchanter. 

"Is  not  the  king's  wiU  my  law  ?  "  answered  Al- 
mamen: "  be  his  will  obeyed.  To-morrow  night  I  await 
thee." 

''>\here?" 

Almamen  paused  a  moment,  and  then  whispered  a  sen- 


16  LEILA, 

tence  in  the  king's  ear  :  Boabdil  started ,  and  turned  pale. 
''A  fearful  spot/" 

''  So  is  the  Alhanibra  itself,  great  Boabdil;  while  Ferdi- 
nand is  without  the  walls ,  and  ]Muza  within  the  city." 

"  Muza  I    Barest  thou  mistrust  my  bravest  warrior  ? " 

"  What  wise  king  will  trust  the  idol  of  the  king's  army? 
Did  Boabdil  fall  to-morrow ,  by  a  chance  javelin ,  in  the 
lield,  whom  would  the  nobles  and  the  warriors  place  upon 
his  throne?  Doth  it  require  an  enchanter's  lore  to  whisper 
to  thy  heart  the  answer,  in  the  name  of  '  Muza?' " 

"Oh!  wretched  state  I  oh,  miserable  king!"  exclaimed 
Boabdil ,  in  a  tone  of  great  anguish.  ' '  I  never  had  a  father ; 
I  have  now  no  people  :  a  little  while ,  and  I  shall  have  no 
country.   Am  I  never  to  have  a  friend? " 

"  A  friend!  what  king  ever  had?"  returned  Almamen , 
drily. 

"  Away,  man ,  away !  "  cried  Boabdil ,  as  the  impatient 
spirit  of  his  rank  and  race  shot  dangerous  fire  from  his 
eyes  ^  "  your  cold  and  bloodless  wisdom  freezes  up  all  the 
veins  of  my  manhood!  Glory,  confidence,  human  sympa- 
thy, and  feeling —  your  counsels  annihilate  them  all.  Leave 
me!"  I  would  be  alone. " 

"  We  meet  to-morrow,  at  midnight,  mighty  Boabdil," 
said  Almamen,  with  his  usual  unmoved  and  passionless 
tones.  "  May  the  king  live  for  ever !  " 

The  king  turned  ^  but  his  monitor  had  already  disappear- 
ed.  He  went  as  ho  came  —  noiseless  and  sudden  as  a  ghost. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

TliE   LOVERS. 

When  Muza  parted  from  Almamen ,  he  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  hill  that  rises  opposite  the  ascent  crowned  with 
the  towers  of  the  Alhambra  •,  the  sides  and  summit  of  which 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  17 

eminence  were  tenanted  by  the  luxurious  population  of  the 
city.  He  selected  the  more  private  and  secluded  paths  ^ 
and,  half-^Yay  up  the  hill,  arrived,  at  last,  before  alow 
wall  of  considerable  extent,  which  girded  the  gardens  of 
some  wealthier  inhabitant  of  the  city.  He  looked  long  and 
anxiously  round  :  all  was  solitary  ^  nor  was  the  stillness 
broken,  save  as  an  occasional  breeze,  from  the  snowy 
heights  of  the  Sierra  iS'evada ,  rustled  the  fragrant  leaves  of 
the  citron  and  pomegranate  \  or,  as  the  silver  tinkling  of 
waterfalls  chimed  melodiously  within  the  gardens.  The 
Moor's  heart  beat  high  :  a  moment  more,  and  he  had  scaled 
the  wall  •,  and  found  himself  upon  a  green  sward ,  varie- 
gated by  the  rich  colours  of  many  a  sleeping  flower,  and 
shaded  by  groves  and  alleys  of  luxuriant  foliage  and  golden 
fruits. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  stood  beside  a  house  that 
seemed  of  a  construction  anterior  to  the  ^Moorish  dynasty. 
It  was  built  over  low  cloisters,  formed  by  heavy  and  time- 
worn  pillars ,  concealed ,  for  the  most  part ,  by  a  profusion 
of  roses  and  creeping  shrubs  :  the  lattices  above  the  clois- 
ters opened  upon  large  gilded  balconies ,  the  super-addition 
of  Moriscan  taste.  In  one  only  of  the  casements  a  lamp  was 
visible  ;  the  rest  of  the  mansion  was  dark^  as  if,  save  in 
that  chamber,  sleep  kept  watch  over  the  inmates.  It  was 
to  this  window  that  the  Moor  stole  •,  and  ,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  murmured,  rather  than  sung,  so  low  and  whisper- 
ed was  his  voice,  the  following  simple  verses,  slightly  varied 
from  an  old  Arabian  poet. 

Light  of  my  soul ,  arise ,  arise  ! 
Thy  sister  lights  are  in  the  skies ; 

We  w  ant  thine  eyes , 

Thy  joyous  eyes; 
The  Night  is  mourning  for  thine  eyes! 
The  sacred  verse  is  on  my  sword , 
,i..         :  .         But  on  my  heart  thy  name  : 


18  LEILA  , 

The  words  on  each  alike  adored ; 
The  truth  of  each  the  same. 

The  same!  —  alas !  too  well  I  feel 
The  heart  is  truer  than  the  steel ! 
Light  of  my  soul !  upon  me  shine ; 
Night  wakes  her  stars  to  envy  mine. 

Those  eyes  of  thine , 

Wild  eyes  of  thine , 
What  stars  are  like  those  eyes  of  thine  ? 


As  he  concluded ,  the  lattice  softly  opened  \  and  a  female 
form  appeared  on  the  balcony. 

"  Ah,  Leila !  "  said  the  Moor,  " I  see  thee,  and  I  am 
blessed!" 

"  Hush  I  "  answered  Leila  5  '^  speak  low,  nor  tarry  long  : 
I  fear  that  our  interviews  are  suspected;  and  this  (she 
added,  in  a  trembling  voice)  may,  perhaps,  be  the  last 
time  we  shall  meet." 

"  Holy  Prophet! "  exclaimed  Muza,  passionately,  "what 
do  I  hear?  Why  this  mystery?  why  cannot  I  learn  thine 
origin,  thy  rank ,  thy  parents  ?  Think  you,  beautiful  Leila , 
that  Granada  holds  a  house  lofty  enough  to  disdain  the  al- 
liance of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan?  and  oh !  (he  added ,  sink- 
ing the  haughty  tones  of  his  voice  into  accents  of  the  soft- 
est tenderness, )  if  not  too  high  to  scorn  me ,  what  should 
war  against  our  loves  and  our  bridals  ?  For  worn  equally 
on  my  heart  were  the  flower  of  thy  sweet  self,  whether  the 
mountain  top  or  the  valley  gave  birth  to  the  odour  and  the 
bloom." 

"  Alas ! "  answered  Leila ,  weeping ,  "the  mystery  thou 
complainest  of ,  is  as  dark  to  myself  as  thee.  How  often 
have  I  told  thee  that  I  know  nothing  of  my  birth  or  child- 
ish fortunes ,  save  a  dim  memory  of  a  more  distant  and 
burning  clime ;  where ,  amidst  sands  and  wastes ,  springs 
the  everlasting  cedar,  and  the  camel  grazes  on  stunted  her- 
bage withering  in  the  fiery  air !    Then ,  it  seemed  to  me 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  19 

that  I  had  a  mother  :  fond  eyes  looked  on  me ,  and  soft 
songs  hushed  me  into  sleep." 

"  Thy  mother's  soul  has  passed  into  mine,"  said  the 
Moor,  tenderly. 

Leila  continued  :  —  "  Borne  hither,  I  passed  from  child- 
hood into  youth  within  these  walls.  Slaves  minister  to  my 
slightest  wish  ^  and  those  who  have  seen  both  state  and  po- 
verty, which  I  have  not,  tell  me  that  treasures  and  splen- 
dour, that  might  glad  a  monarch,  are  prodigalised  around 
me  :  but  of  ties  and  kindred  know  I  little  :  my  father,  a 
stern  and  silent  man ,  visits  me  but  rarely  —  sometimes 
months  pass  ,  and  I  see  him  not  •,  but  I  feel  he  loves  me ; 
and,  till  I  knew  thee,  Muza,  my  brightest  hours  were  in  lis- 
tening to  the  footsteps  and  flying  to  the  arms  of  that  soli- 
tary friend." 

"  Know  you  not  his  name? " 

*'  Nor  I,  nor  any  one  of  the  household-,  save  ,  perhaps  , 
Ximen ,  the  chief  of  the  slaves,  an  old  and  withered  man  , 
whose  very  eye  chills  me  into  fear  and  silence." 

"Strange ! "  said  the  Moor,  musingly ;  "  yet  why  think 
you  our  love  is  discovered  ,  or  can  be  thw^arted  ? " 

"  Hush  I  Ximen  sought  me  this  day  : '  Maiden,'  said  he, 
'  men's  footsteps  have  been  tracked  within  the  gardens  ^  if 
your  sire  know  this  ,  you  will  have  looked  your  last  upon 
Granada.  Learn ,'  he  added  ,  ( in  a  softer  voice ,  as  he  saw 
me  tremble ,)  '  that  permission  were  easier  given  to  thee  to 
wed  the  wild  tiger,  than  to  mate  with  the  loftiest  noble  of 
Morisca!  Beware!'  He  spoke,  and  left  me.  O  Muza! 
( she  continued ,  passionately  wringing  her  hands , )  my 
heart  sinks  within  me ,  and  omen  and  doom  rise  dark  be- 
fore my  sight ! " 

"  By  my  father's  head ,  these  obstacles  but  fire  my  love ; 
and  I  would  scale  to  thy  possession  ,  though  every  step  in 
the  ladder  were  the  corpses  of  a  hundred  foes ! " 

Scarcely  had  the  fiery  and  high-souled  Moor  uttered 
his  boast ,  than ,  from  some  unseen  hand  amidst  the  groves, 


20  LEILA  , 

a  javelin  whirred  past  him ,  and ,  as  the  air  it  raised  came 
sharp  upon  his  cheek ,  half  huried  its  quivering  shaft  in 
the  trunk  of  a  tree  behind  him. 

''Fly,  fly,  and  save  thyself  I  O  God,  protect  him!" 
cried  Leila  •,  and  she  vanished  within  the  chamber. 

The  Moor  did  not  w^ait  the  result  of  a  deadlier  aim  :  he 
turned  •,  yet ,  in  the  instinct  of  his  fierce  nature ,  not  from , 
but  against,  the  foe-,  his  drawn  cimiter  in  his  hand,  the 
half-suppressed  cry  of  wrath  trembling  on  his  lips,  he 
sprung  forward  in  the  direction  whence  the  javelin  had 
sped.  With  eyes  accustomed  to  the  ambuscades  of  Moorish 
warfare ,  he  searched  eagerly,  yet  warily,  through  the  dark 
and  sighing  foliage.  No  sign  of  Hfe  met  his  gaze  *,  and  at 
length ,  grimly  and  reluctantly,  he  retraced  his  steps ,  and 
quitted  the  demesnes  :  but,  just  as  he  had  cleared  the  wall , 
a  voice — low,  but  sharp ,  and  shrill — came  from  the  gar- 
dens. 

"Thou  art  spared,"  it  said,  "but,  haply,  for  a  more 
miserable  doom ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER, 

The  chamber  into  which  Leila  retreated  bore  out  the 
character  she  had  given  of  the  interior  of  her  home.  The 
fashion  of  its  ornament  and  decoration  w^as  foreign  to  that 
adopted  by  the  Moors  of  Granada.  It  had  a  more  massive 
and ,  if  we  may  use  the  term ,  Egyptian  gorgeousness. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  the  stuffs  of  the  East,  stiff 
with  gold ,  embroidered  upon  ground  of  the  deepest  pur- 
ple j  strange  characters,  apparently  in  some  foreign  tongue, 
were  wrought  in  the  tesselated  cornices  and  on  the  heavy 
ceiling ,  which  was  supported  by  square  pillars ,  round 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADV.  21 

Nvhich  were  twisted  serpents  of  gold  and  enamel ,  with  eyes 
to  which  enormous  emeralds  gave  a  green  and  lifelike 
glare  :  various  scrolls  and  musical  instruments  lay  scattered 
upon  marble  tables :  and  a  solitary  lamp  of  burnished  silver 
cast  a  dim  and  subdued  light  around  the  chamber.  The 
effect  of  the  whole,  though  splendid ,  was  gloomy,  strange, 
and  oppressive,  and  rather  suited  either  to  the  cold  climate 
of  the  Norman ,  or  to  the  thick  and  cavelike  architecture 
which  of  old  protected  the  inhabitants  of  Thebes  and 
Memphis  from  the  rays  of  the  African  sun ,  than  the  trans- 
parent heaven  and  light  pavilions  of  the  graceful  orientals 
of  Grenada. 

Leila  stood  within  this  chamber,  pale  and  breathless, with 
her  lips  apart,  her  hands  clasped ,  her  very  soul  in  her  ears  ^ 
nor  was  it  possible  to  conceive  a  more  perfect  ideal  of  some 
delicate  and  brilliant  peri ,  captured  in  the  palace  of  a  hostile 
and  gloomy  genius.  Her  form  was  of  the  lightest  shape 
consistent  with  the  roundness  of  w^omanly  beauty ;  and 
there  was  something  in  it  of  that  elastic  and  fawnlike  grace 
which  a  sculptor  seeks  to  embody  in  his  dreams  of  a  b^ng 
more  aerial  than  those  of  earth.  Her  luxuriant  hair  was 
dark  indeed ,  but  a  purple  and  glossy  hue  redeemed  it  from 
that  heaviness  of  shade  too  common  in  the  tresses  of  the 
Asiatics  \  and  her  complexion ,  naturally  pale ,  but  clear 
and  lustrous ,  would  have  been  deemed  fair  even  in  the 
North.  Her  features ,  slightly  aquihne ,  w^ere  formed  in  the 
rarest  mould  of  symmetry,  and  her  full  rich  hps  disclosed 
teeth  that  might  have  shamed  the  pearl.  But  the  chief 
charm  of  that  exquisite  countenance  was  in  an  expression 
of  softness  and  purity,  and  intellectual  sentiment,  that 
seldom  accompanies  that  cast  of  loveliness,  and  was  wholly 
foreign  to  the  voluptuous  and  dreamy  languor  of  Moorish 
maidens  \  —  Leila  had  been  educated ,  and  the  statue  had 
received  a  soul. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  intense  suspense ,  she  again  stole 
to  the  lattice,  gently  unclosed  it,  and  looked  forth.   Far. 


22  LEILA  , 

through  an  opening  amidst  the  trees ,  she  descried ,  for  a 
single  moment ,  the  erect  and  stately  figure  of  her  lover, 
darkening  the  moonshine  on  the  sward,  as  now,  quitting 
his  fruitless  search ,  he  turned  his  hngering  gaze  towards 
the  lattice  of  his  beloved  :  the  thick  and  interlacing  foliage 
quickly  hid  him  from  her  eyes  •,  but  Leila  had  seen  enough 
-she  turned  within ,  and  said,  as  grateful  tears  trickled 
down  her  cheeks ,  and  she  sank  on  her  knees  upon  the 
piled  cushions  of  the  chamber:  "God  of  my  fathers!  I 
bless  thee— he  is  safe!" 

"And  yet,  (she  added,  as  a  painful  thought  crossed 
her,)  how  may  I  pray  for  him?  we  kneel  not  to  the* same 
Divinity  ^  and  I  have  been  taught  to  loathe  and  shudder  at 
his  creed!  Alas!  how  will  this  end?  Fatal  was  the  hour 
when  he  first  beheld  me  in  yonder  gardens,  more  fatal  still 
the  hour  in  which  he  crossed  the  barrier,  and  told  Leila 
that  she  was  beloved  by  the  hero  whose  arm  was  the 
shelter,  whose  name  is  the  blessing,  of  Granada.  Ah, 
me!    Ah,  me!" 

The  young  maiden  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  j 
and  sunk  into  a  passionate  reverie ,  broken  only  by  her 
sobs.  Some  time  had  passed  in  this  undisturbed  indul- 
gence of  her  grief,  when  the  arras  was  gently  put  aside, 
and  a  man,  of  remarkable  garb  and  mien,  advanced  into 
the  chamber,  pausing  as  he  beheld  her  dejected  attitude , 
and  gazing  on  her  with  a  look  in  w^hich  pity  and  tenderness 
seemed  to  struggle  against  habitual  severity  and  sternness. 

"  Leila ! "  said  the  intruder. 

Leila  started,  and  a  deep  blush  suffused  her  countenance  \ 
she  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes ,  and  came  fonvard 
with  a  vain  attempt  to  smile. 

"My  father,  welcome!" 

The  stranger  seated  himself  on  the  cushions ,  and  mo- 
tioned Leila  to  his  side. 

"  These  tears  are  fresh  upon  thy  cheek,"  said  he,  grave- 
ly^ "they  are  the  witness  of  thy  race!  our  daughters  are 


OR    THE    SIE'JH    OF   GRANADA.  23 

horn  to  weep ,  and  our  sons  to  groan  ^  ashes  are  on  the 
head  of  the  mighty,  and  the  Fountains  of  the  Beautiful 
run  with  gall  I  Oh,  that  we  could  but  struggle— that  we 
could  hut  dare  —  that  we  could  raise  up  our  heads ,  and 
unite  against  the  bondage  of  the  evil-doer!  It  may  not  be 
—  but  one  man  shall  avenge  a  nation !  " 

The  dark  face  of  Leila's  father,  well  fitted  to  express 
powerful  emotion  ,  became  terrible  in  its  wrath  and  pas- 
sion ^  his  brow  and  lip  worked  convulsively  ^  but  the 
paroxysm  was  brief-,  and  scarce  could  she  shudder  at  its 
intensity,  ere  it  had  subsided  into  calm. 

"  Enough  of  these  thoughts ,  which  thou ,  a  woman  and 
a  child ,  art  not  formed  to  witness.  Leila ,  thou  hast  been 
nurtured  with  tenderness  ,  and  schooled  with  care.  Harsh 
and  unloving  may  I  have  seemed  to  thee,  but  I  would  have 
shed  the  best  drops  of  my  heart  to  have  saved  thy  young 
years  from  a  single  pang.  Nay,  listen  to  me  silently.  That 
thou  mightest  one  day  be  worthy  of  thy  race ,  and  that 
thine  hours  might  not  pass  in  indolent  and  w^eary  lassitude, 
thou  hast  been  taught  the  lessons  of  a  knowledge  rarely 
given  to  thy  sex.  Not  thine  the  lascivious  arts  of  the 
Moorish  maidens  •,  not  thine  their  harlot  songs ,  and  their 
dances  of  lewd  delight^  thy  delicate  hmbs  were  but  taught 
the  attitude  that  Nature  dedicates  to  the  worship  of  a  God, 
and  the  music  of  thy  voice  was  tuned  to  the  songs  of  thy 
fall^  country,  sad  with  the  memory  of  her  wrongs ,  ani- 
mated with  the  names  of  her  heroes ,  holy  with  the  solem- 
nity of  her  prayers.  These  scrolls ,  and  the  lessons  of  our 
seers,  have  imparted  to  thee  such  of  our  science  and  our 
history  as  may  fit  thy  mind  to  aspire ,  and  thy  heart  to  feel 
for  a  sacred  cause.  Thou  listenest  to  me ,  Leila? " 

Perplexed  and  wondering,  for  never  before  had  her 
father  addressed  her^n  such  a  strain,  the  maiden  answered 
with  an  earnestness  of  manner  that  seemed  to  content  the 
questioner-,  and  he  resumed,  with  an  altered,  hollow, 
solemn  voice : 


24  LEILA  , 

"  Then  ,  curse  the  persecutors  I  Daughter  of  the  great 
Hebrew  race ,  arise  and  curse  the  Moorish  taskmaster  and 
spoiler  I" 

As  he  spoke ,  the  adjuror  himself  rose ,  lifting  his  right 
hand  on  high ,  while  his  left  touched  the  shoulder  of  the 
maiden.  But  she ,  after  gazing  a  moment  in  wild  and  ter- 
rified amazement  upon  his  face ,  fell  cowering  at  his  knees  5 
and ,  clasping  them  imploringly ,  exclaimed ,  in  scarce  arti- 
culate murmurs  : 

"  Oh  ,  spare  me !  spare  me  I" 

The  Hebrew ,  for  such  he  was ,  surveyed  her ,  as  she 
thus  quailed  at  his  feet ,  with  a  look  of  rage  and  scorn  :  his 
hand  wandered  to  his  poniard,  he  half  unsheathed  it,  thrust 
it  back  with  a  muttered  curse ,  and  then ,  deliberately  draw- 
ing it  forth ,  cast  it  on  the  ground  beside  her. 

"  Degenerate  girl  I"  he  said ,  in  accents  that  vainly 
struggled  for  calm,  "  if  thou  hast  admitted  to  thy  heart 
one  unworthy  thoughf  towards  a  Moorish  infidel ,  dig  deep 
and  root  it  out ,  even  with  the  knife  ,  and  to  the  death  —  so 
wilt  thou  save  this  hand  from  that  degrading  task." 

He*  drew  himself  hastily  from  her  grasp ,  and  left  the  un- 
fortunate girl  alone  and  senseless » 


CHAPTER  V.  • 

AMBITION   DISTORTED    INTO   VICE   BY   LAV. 

On  descending  a  broad  flight  of  stairs  from  the  apart- 
ment ,  the  Hebrew  encountered  an  old  man ,  habited  in 
loose  garments  of  silk  and  fur  ,  upon  whose  withered  and 
wrinkled  face  life  seemed  scarcely  to  struggle  against  the 
advance  of  death  —  so  haggard ,  wa^j,  and  corpselike ,  was 
its  aspect. 

"  Ximen,"  said  the  Israelite ,  "  trusty  and  beloved  ser- 
vant ,  follow  me  to  the  cavern.^'    He  did  not  tarry  for  an 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.>ADA.  25 

answer ,  but  continued  his  way  with  rapid  strides ,  through 
various  courts  and  alleys ,  till  he  came  at  length  into  a  nar- 
row ,  dark ,  and  damp  gallery ,  that  seemed  cut  from  the 
living  rock.  At  its  entrance  was  a  strong  grate,  which  gave 
way  to  the  Hebrew's  touch  upon  the  spring ,  though  the' 
united  strength  of  a  hundred  men  could  not  have  moved  it 
from  its  hinge.  Taking  up  a  brazen  lamp  that  burnt  in  a 
niche  within  it,  the  Hebrew  paused  impatiently  till  the 
feeble  steps  of  the  old  man  reached  the  spot ;  and  then ,  re- 
closing  the  grate ,  pursued  his  winding  way  for  a  consi- 
derable distance ,  till  he  stopped  suddenly  by  a  part  of  the 
rock  which  seemed  in  no  respect  different  from  the  rest  : 
and  so  artfully  contrived  and  concealed  was  the  door  which 
he  now  opened  ,  and  so  suddenly  did  it  yield  to  his  hand , 
that  it  appeared  literally  the  effect  of  enchantment ,  when 
the  rock  yawned,  and  discovered  a  circular  cavern,  lighted 
with  brazen  lamps ,  and  spread  with  hangings  and  cushions 
of  thick  furs.  Upon  rude  and  seemingly  natural  pillars  of 
rock ,  various  antique  and  rusty  arms  were  suspended  ^  in 
large  niches  were  deposited  scrolls ,  clasped  and  bound 
with  iron  :  and  a  profusion  of  strange  and  uncouth  instru- 
ments and  machines  (in  which  modern  science  might, 
perhaps ,  discover  the  tools  of  chemical  invention  , )  gave  a 
magical  and  ominous  aspect  to  the  wild  abode. 
'  The  Hebrew  cast  himself  on  a  couch  of  furs  ^  and  ,  as  the 
old  man  entered  and  closed  the  door ,  "  Ximen ,"  said  he, 
"  fill  out  wine  —  it  is  a  soothing  counsellor ,  and  I  need  it." 

Extracting  from  one  of  the  recesses  of  the  cavern  a  flask 
and  goblet ,  Ximen  proffered  to  his  lord  a  copious  draught 
of  the  sparkling  vintage  of  the  Vega ,  which  seemed  to  invi- 
gorate and  restore  him. 

"  Old  man,"  said  he,  concluding  the  potation  with  a 
deep-drawn  sigh  ,  "  fill  to  thyself  —  drink  till  thy  veins  feel 
young." 

Ximen  obeyed  the  mandate  but  imperfectly  ^  the  wine 
just  touched  his  lips ,  and  the  goblet  was  put  aside. 


26  LEILA  , 

"  Ximen,"  resumed  the  Israelite,  "  how  many  of  our 
race  have  been  butchered  by  the  avarice  of  the  Moorish 
kings,  since  first  thou  didst  set  foot  within  the  city?" 

"  Three  thousand  —  the  number  was  completed  last 
winter,  by  the  order  of  Jusef,  the  vizier^  and  their  goods 
and  coffers  are  transformed  into  shafts  and  cimiters ,  against 
the  dogs  ofGahlee." 

\'  Three  thousand  —  no  more?  three  thousand  only? 
I  would  the  number  had  been  tripled ,  for  the  interest  is 
becoming  duel" 

' '  My  brother,  and  my  son  ,  and  my  grandson ,  are  among 
the  number,''  said  the  old  man  ,  and  his  face  grew  yet  more 
deathUke. 

"  Their  monuments  shall  be  in  hecatombs  of  their  ty- 
rants. They  shall  not ,  at  least ,  call  the  Jews  niggards  in 
revenge." 

"  But  pardon  me,  noble  chief  of  a  fallen  people-,  thinkest 
thou  we  shall  be  less  despoiled  and  trodden  under  foot  by 
yon  haughty  and  stiff-necked  Nazarenes ,  than  by  the  Ara- 
bian misbelievers?" 

"  Accursed ,  in  truth  ,  are  both  ,"  returned  the  Hebrew ; 
"but  the  one  promise  more  fairly  than  the  other.  I  have 
seen  this  Ferdinand,  and  his  proud  queen  5  they  are  pledged 
to  accord  us  rights  and  immunities  we  have  never  known 
before  in  Europe." 

"And  they  will  not  touch  our  traffic,  our  gains,  our 
gold  ? "  • 

"  Out  on  thee  I  "  cried  the  fiery  Israelite,  stamping  on 
the  ground.  "  I  would  all  the  gold  of  earth  were  sunk  into 
the  everlasting  pit !  It  is  this  mean ,  and  miserable ,  and 
loathsome  leprosy  of  avarice ,  that  gnaws  away  from  our 
whole  race  the  heart,  the  soul,  nay,  the  very  form,  of 
man  I  Many  a  time ,  when  I  have  seen  the  lordly  fea- 
tures of  the  descendants  of  Solomon  and  Joshua  (features 
that  stamp  the  nobility  of  the  eastern  world  born  to  mas- 
tery and  command;  sharpened  and  furrowed  by  petty  ca- 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.^fADA.  27 

res .  —  when  I  have  looked  upon  the  frame  of  the  strong 
man  bowed ,  like  a  crawling  reptile ,  to  some  huckstering 
bargainer  of  silks  and  unguents, — and  heard  the  voice, 
that  should  be  raising  the  battle-cry,  smoothed  into  fawn- 
ing accents  of  base  fear,  or  yet  baser  hope ,  —  I  have  asked 
myself,  if  I  am  indeed  of  the  blood  of  Israel !  and  thanked 
the  great  Jehovah ,  that  he  hath  spared  me ,  at  least ,  the 
curse  that  hath  blasted  my  brotherhood  into  usurers  and 
slaves  I " 

Ximen  prudently  forbore  an  answer  to  enthusiasm  which 
he  neither  shared  nor  understood :  but ,  after  a  brief  silence, 
turned  back  the  stream  of  the  conversation. 

"You  resolve,  then,  upon  prosecuting  vengeance  on 
the  Moors ,  at  whatsoever  hazard  of  the  broken  faith  of 
these  Xazarenes?" 

"  x\y,  the  vapour  of  human  blood  hath  risen  unto  hea- 
ven, and,  collected  into  thunder-clouds,  hangs  over  the 
doomed  and  guilty  city.  And  now,  Ximen  ,  I  have  a  new 
cause  for  hatred  to  the  Moors  :  the  flower  that  I  have  reared 
and  watched ,  the  spoiler  hath  sought  to  pluck  it  from  my 
^hearth.  Leila  —  thou  hast  guarded  her  ill ,  Ximen  ^  and , 
wert  thou  not  endeared  to  me  by  thy  very  maUce  and  vices, 
the  rising  sun  should  have  seen  thy  trunk  on  the  waters  of 
the  Darro." 

"  My  lord  ,''  replied  Ximen  ,  "  if  thou ,  the  wisest  of  our 
people ,  canst  not  guard  a  maiden  from  love,  how  canst 
thou  see  crime  in  the  dull  eyes  and  numbed  senses  of  a 
miserable  old  man  ? " 

The  Israelite  did  not  answer,  nor  seem  to  hear  this  depre- 
catory remonstrance.  He  appealed  rather  occupied  with 
his  ow^n  thoughts  •,  and  ,  speaking  to  himself,  he  muttered , 
"  It  must  be  so  :  the  sacrifice  is  hard —  the  danger  great  ^ 
but  here ,  at  least ,  it  is  more  immediate.  It  shall  be  done, 
r^imen,"  he  continued,  speaking  aloud,  "  dost  thou  feel 
assured  that  even  mine  own  countrymen,  mine  ow^n  tribe  , 
know  me  not  as  one  of  them  ?  Were  my  despised  birth  and 


28  LEILA  , 

religion  published ,  my  limbs  would  be  torn  asunder  as  an 
impostor;  and  all  the  arts  of  the  Cabala  could  not  save  me." 

"  Doubt  not,  great  master;  none  in  Granada,  s9ve  thy 
faithful  Ximen ,  know  thy  secret." 

"  So  let  me  dream  and  hope.  And  now  to  my  work ;  for 
this  night  must  be  spent  in  toil." 

The  Hebrew  drew  before  him  some  of  the  strange  instru- 
ments we  have  described ;  and  took ,  from  the  recesses  in 
the  rock ,  several  scrolls.  The  old  man  lay  at  his  feet ,  ready 
to  obey  his  behests;  but,  to  all  appearance ,  rigid  and  mo- 
tionless as  the  dead ,  whom  his  blanched  hues  and  shrivel- 
led form  resembled.  It  was,  indeed,  as  the  picture  of  the 
enchanter  at  his  work ,  and  the  corpse  of  some  man  of  old , 
revived  from  the  grave  to  minister  to  his  spells ,  and  execute 
his  commands. 

Enough  in  the  preceding  conversation  has  transpired  to 
convince  the  reader,  that  the  Hebrew,  in  whom  he  has  al- 
ready detected  the  Almamen  of  the  Alhambra ,  was  of  no 
character  common  to  his  tribe.  Of  a  lineage  that  shrouded 
itself  in  the  darkness  of  his  mysterious  people ,  in  their  day 
of  power,  and  possessed  of  immense  wealth  ,  which  threw 
into  poverty  the  resources  of  Gothic  princes,  —  the  youth* 
of  that  remarkable  man  had  been  spent ,  not  in  traffic  and 
merchandise ,  but  travel  and  study. 

As  a  child ,  his  home  had  been  in  Granadac  He  had  seen 
his  father  butchered  by  the  late  king,  Muley  Abul  Hassan, 
without  other  crime  than  his  reputed  riches ;  and  his  body 
literally  cut  open,  to  search  for  the  jewels  it  was  supposed 
he  had  swallowed.  He  saw ;  and ,  boy  as  he  was ,  he  vowed 
revenge.  A  distant  kinsman  bore  the  orphan  to  lands  more 
secure  from  persecution;  and  the  art  with  which  the 
Jews  concealed  their  wealth ,  scattering  it  over  various  ci- 
ties, had  secured  to  Almamen  the  treasures  the  tyrant  of 
Granada  had  failed  to  grasp. 

He  had  visited  the  greater  part  of  the  world  then  known ; 
and  resided ,  for  many  years ,  in  the  court  of  the  sultan  of 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA,  29 

that  hoary  Egypt ,  which  still  retained  its  fame  for  abstruse 
science  and  magic  lore.  He  had  not  in  vain  applied  himself 
to  such  tempting  and  wild  researches ;  and  had  acquired 
many  of  those  secrets ,  now ,  perhaps ,  lost  for  ever  to  the 
world.  We  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  he  attained  to 
what  legend  and  superstition  impose  upon  our  faith  as  the 
art  of  sorcery.  He  could  neither  command  the  elements , 
nor  pierce  the  veil  of  the  future ,  —  scatter  armies  with  a 
word ,  nor  pass  from  spot  to  spot  by  the  utterance  of  a 
charmed  formula.  But  men  who ,  for  ages ,  had  passed 
their  lives  in  attempting  all  the  effects  that  can  astonish 
and  awe  the  vulgar .  could  not  but  learn  some  secrets  which 
all  the  more  sober  wisdom  of  modern  times  would  search 
ineffectually  to  solve  or  to  revive.  And  many  of  such  arts , 
acquired  mechanically  (their  invention  often  the  work  of  a 
chemical  accident ) ,  those  who  attained  to  them  could  not 
always  explain ,  nor  account  for  the  phenomena  they  creat- 
ed, so  that  the  mightiness  of  their  own  deceptions  de- 
ceived themselves  •,  and  they  often  believed  they  were  the 
masters  of  the  nature  to  which  they  were ,  in  reality ,  but 
erratic  and  wild  disciples.  Of  such  was  the  student  in  that 
grim  cavern.  He  knew  himself  an  impostor  j  but  yet  he 
was ,  in  some  measure ,  the  dupe ,  partly  of  his  own  bewild- 
ered wisdom ,  partly  of  the  fervour  of  an  imagination  ex- 
ceedingly high-wrought  and  enthusiastic.  His  own  gor- 
geous vanity  intoxicated  him  :  and ,  if  it  be  a  historical 
truth  that  the  kings  of  the  ancient  world  ,  blinded  by  their 
own  power ,  had  moments  in  which  they  believed  them- 
selves more  than  men ,  it  is  not  incredible  that  sages ,  ele- 
vated even  above  kings ,  should  conceive  a  frenzy  as  weak , 
or,  it  may  be,  as  sublime-,  and  imagine  that  they  did  not 
claim ,  in  vain ,  the  awful  dignity  with  which  the  faith  of 
the  multitude  invested  their  faculties  and  gifts. 

But ,  though  the  accident  of  birth  ,  which  excluded  him 
from  all  field  for  energy  and  ambition ,  had  thus  directed 
the  powerful  mind  of  Almamen  to  contemplation  and  study, 


30  LEILA  , 

nature  had  never  intended  passions  so  fierce  for  the  calm , 
though  visionary  pursuits  to  which  he  was  addicted.  Amidst 
scrolls  and  seers,  he  had  pined  for  action  and  glory  •,  and , 
baffled  in  all  wholesome  egress,  by  the  universal  exclusion 
which,  in  every  land,  and  from  every  faith,  met  the  reli- 
gion he  belonged  to,  the  faculties  within  him  ran  riot ,  pro- 
ducing gigantic ,  but  baseless  schemes ,  which ,  as  one  after 
the  other  crumbled  away,  left  behind  feelings  of  dark  mis- 
anthropy ,  and  intense  revenge. 

Perhaps ,  had  his  religion  been  prosperous  and  powerful , 
he  might  have  been  a  sceptic;  persecution  and  affliction 
made  him  a  fanatic.  Yet ,  true  to  that  prominent  charac- 
teristic of  the  old  Hebrew  race,  which  made  them  look  to 
a  Messiah  only  as  a  warrior  and  a  prince ,  and  which  taught 
them  to  associate  all  their  hopes  and  schemes  with  worldly 
victories  and  power,  Almamen  desired  rather  to  advance, 
than  to  obey,  his  religion.  He  cared  little  for  its  pre- 
cepts, he  thought  little  of  its  doctrines^  but,  night  and 
day,  he  revolved  his  schemes  for  its  earthly  restoration  and 
triumph. 

At  that  time ,  the  Moors  in  Spain  were  far  more  deadly 
persecutors  of  the  Jews  than  the  Christians  were.  Amidst 
the  Spanish  cities  on  the  coast,  that  merchant  tribe  had 
formed  commercial  connexions  with  the  Christians ,  suffi- 
ciently beneficial ,  both  to  individuals  as  to  communities ,  to 
obtain  them ,  not  only  toleration  ,  but  something  of  personal 
friendship ,  wherever  men  bought  and  sold  in  the  market- 
place. And  the  gloomy  fanaticism  which  afterwards  stained 
the  fame  of  the  great  Ferdinand ,  and  introduced  the  hor- 
rors of  the  Inquisition  ,  had  not  yet  made  itself  more  than 
fitfully  visible.  But  the  Moors  had  treated  this  unhappy 
people  with  a  wholesale  and  relentless  barbarity.  At  Gra- 
nada ,  under  the  reign  of  the  fierce  father  of  Boabdil ,  — 
"  that  king  with  the  tiger  heart ,"  —  the  Jews  had  been  li- 
terally placed  without  the  pale  of  humanity ;  and ,  even 
under  the  mild  and  contemplative  Boabdil  himself,  they 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.WDA.  31 

had  been  plundered  without  mercy,  and,  if  suspected  of 
secreting  their  treasures,  massacred  without  scruple-,  the 
wants  of  the  state  continued  their  unrelenting  accusers  ,  — 
their  wealth  ,  their  inexpiable  crime. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  barbarities  that  Almamen  , 
for  the  first  time  since  the  day  when  the  death-shriek  of 
his  agonised  father  rung  in  his  ears ,  suddenly  returned  to 
Granada.  He  saw  the  unmitigated  miseries  of  his  brethren , 
and  he  remembered  and  repeated  his  vov/.  His  name  chan- 
ged, his  kindred  dead,  none  remembered,  in  the  mature 
Almamen  ,  the  beardless  child  of  Issachar ,  the  Jew.  He 
had  long,  indeed,  deemed  it  advisable  to  disguise  his  faith; 
and  was  known ,  throughout  the  African  kingdoms  .  but  as 
the  potent  santon,  or  .the  wise  magician. 

This  fame  soon  lifted  him,  in  Granada,  high  in  the 
councils  of  the  court.  Admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  Muley 
Hassan ,  with  Boabdii ,  and  the  queen  mother ,  he  had 
conspired  against  that  monarch  ;  and  had  lived  ,  at  least ,  to 
avenge  his  father  upon  the  royal  murderer.  He  was  no  less 
intimate  with  Boabdii ;  but ,  steeled  against  fellowship 
or  affection  for  all  men  out  of  the  pale  of  his  faith ,  he 
saw,  in  the  confidence  of  the  king ,  only  the  blindness  of  a 
victim.         f 

Serpent  as  he  was .  he  cared  not  through  what  mire  of 
treachery  and  fraud  he  trailed  his  baleful  folds  ,  so  that,  at 
last ,  he  could  spring  upon  his  prey.  Nature  had  given  him 
sagacity  and  strength.  The  curse  of  circumstance  had 
humbled,  but  reconciled  him  to  the  dust.  He  had  the 
crawl  of  the  reptile ,  —  he  had ,  also ,  its  poison  and  its 
fangs. 


32  LEILA  , 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  LIOJN    IN   THE  NET. 

It  was  the  next  night,  not  long  before  day-break,  that 
the  king  of  Granada  abruptly  summoned  to  his  council 
Jusef,  his  vizier.  The  old  man  found  Boabdil  in  great 
disorder  and  excitement  ^  but  he  almost  deemed  his  so- 
vereign mad ,  when  he  received  from  him  the  order  to 
seize  upon  the  person  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan ,  and  to 
lodge  him  in  the  strongest  dungepn  of  the  Vermilion 
Tower.  Presuming  upon  Boabdil's  natural  mildness ,  the 
vizier  ventured  to  remonstrate ,  —  to  suggest  the  danger 
of  laying  violent  hands  upon  a  chief  so  beloved  ,  — " 
and  to  inquire  what  cause  should  be  assigned  for  the 
outrage. 

The  veins  swelled  like  cords  upon  Boabdil's  brow ,  as 
he  listened  to  the  vizier  ^  and  his  answer  was  short  and 
peremptory. 

"Am  I  yet  a  king,  that  I  should  fear  a  subject,  or 
excuse  my  will  ?  Thou  hast  my  orders  •,  there  are  my  signet 
and  the  firman  :  obedience ,  or  the  bow-string  I " 

Never  before  had  Boabdil  so  resembled  his  dread  father 
in  speech  and  air  ♦,  the  vizier  trembled  to  the  soles  of  his  feet; 
and  withdrew  in  silence.  Boabdil  watched  him  depart ;  and 
then ,  clasping  his  hands  in  great  emotion  ,  exclaimed ,  "  O 
lips  of  the  dead  I  ye  have  w^arned  me ;  and  to  you  I  sacrifice 
the  friend  of  my  youth. " 

On  quitting  Boabdil ,  the  vizier,  taking  with  him  some  of 
those  foreign  slaves  of  a  seraglio  ,  w^ho  know  no  sympathy 
with  human  passion  outside  its  walls ,  bent  his  way  to  the 
palace  of  Muza ,  sorely  puzzled  and  perplexed.  He  did  not , 
however ,  like  to  venture  upon  the  hazard  of  the  alarm  it 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  33 

might  occasion  throughout  the  neighbourhood ,  if  he  en- 
deavoured ,  at  so  unseasonable  an  hour  ,  to  force  an 
entrance.  He  resolved ,  rather,  with  his  train,  to  wait  at  a 
httle  distance ,  till ,  with  the  growing  dawn ,  the  gates 
should  be  unclosed ,  and  the  inmates  of  the  palace  astir. 

Accordingly,  cursing  his  stars,  and  wondering  al  his 
mission ,  Jusef ,  and  his  silent  and  ominous  attendants , 
concealed  themselves  in  a  small  copse  adjoining  the  palace, 
until  the  daylight  fairly  broke  over  the  awakened  city.  He 
then  passed  into  the  palace  ,  and  was  conducted  to  a  hall , 
where  he  found  the  renowned  Moslem  akeady  astir,  and 
conferring  with  some  zegri  captains  upon  the  tactics  of  a 
sortie  designed  for  that  day. 

It  was  with  so  evident  a  reluctance  and  apprehension 
that  Jusef  approached  the  prince,  that  the  fierce  and  quick- 
sighted  zegris  instantly  suspected  some  evil  intention  in  his 
visit :  and ,  when  Muza ,  in  surprise  ,  yielded  to  the  prayer 
of  the  vizier  for  a  private  audience  ,  it  was  with  scowling 
brows  and  sparkling  eyes  that  the  Moorish  warriors  left 
the  darling  of  the  nobles  alone  with  the  messenger  of  their 
king. 

'•  By  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet! "  said  one  of  the  zegris , 
as  he  quitted  the  hall ,  "the  timid  Boabdil suspects  our  Ben 
Abil  Gazan.  I  learned  of  this  before.  " 

''  Hush  I  "  said  another  of  the  band  ^  "let  us  watch.  If 
the  king  touch  a  hair  of  Muza's  beard ,  Allah  have  mercy 
on  his  sins  I  " 

Meanwhile ,  the  vizier ,  in  silence  ,  shewed  to  Muza  the 
firman  and  the  signet  \  and  then ,  without  venturing  to 
announce  the  place  to  which  he  was  commissioned  to 
conduct  the  prince  ,  besought  him  to  follow  him  at  once. 
Muza  changed  colour ,  —  but  not  with  fear. 

"  Alas  I  "  said  he  ,  in  a  tone  of  deep  sorrow,  "  can  it  be 
that  I  have  fallen  under  my  royal  kinsman's  suspicion  or 
displeasure  ?  But  no  matter ;  proud  to  set  to  Granada  an 
example  of  valour  in  her  defence ,  be  it  mine  to  set,  also  , 

3 


34  LEILA  , 

an  example  of  obedience  to  her  king.  Go  on  —  1  will  follow 
Ihee.  Yet  stay ,  you  will  have  no  need  of  guards ;  let  us 
depart  by  a  private  egress  :  the  zegris  might  misgive ,  did 
they  see  me  leave  the  palace  with  you  at  the  very  time  the 
army  are  assembling  in  the  Vivarrambla  ,  and  axy^iting  my 
presence.  This  way." 

Thus  saying,  Muza,  who,  fierce  as  he  was,  obeyed  every 
im.pulse  that  the  oriental  loyalty  dictated  from  a  subject  to  a 
king,  passed  from  the  hall  to  a  small  door  that  admitted 
into  the  garden ,  and  in  thoughtful  silence  accompanied  the 
vizier  tow^ards  the  Alhambra.  As  they  passed  the  copse  in 
which  Muza ,  two  nights  before,  had  met  with  Almamen  , 
the  Moor,  lifting  his  head  suddenly,  beheld  fixed  upon  him 
the  dark  eyes  of  the  magician ,  as  he  emerged  from  the 
trees.  Muza  thought  there  was  in  those  eyes  a  malign  and 
hostile  exultation  ^  but  Almamen ,  gravely  saluting  him , 
passed  on  through  the  grove  :  the  prince  did  not  deign  to 
look  back,  or  he  might  once  more  have  encountered  that 
withering  gaze. 

"  Proud  heathen! "  muttered  Almamen  to  himself,  "  thy 
father  filled  his  treasuries  from  the  gold  of  many  a  tortured 
Hebrew  ^  and  even  thou ,  too  haughty  to  be  the  miser,  hast 
been  savage  enough  to  play  the  bigot.  Thy  name  is  a  curse 
in  Israel  ^  yet  dost  thou  lust  after  the  daughter  of  our 
despised  race ,  and ,  could  defeated  passion  sting  thee ,  I 
were  avenged.  Ay ,  sweep  on ,  with  thy  stately  step  and 
lofty  crest —  thou  goest  to  chains ,  perhaps  to  death.  " 

As  Almamen  thus  vented  his  bitter  spirit ,  the  last  gleam 
of  the  white  robes  of  Muza  vanished  from  his  gaze.  He 
paused  a  moment ,  turned  away  abruptly ,  and  said ,  half 
aloud ,  *'  Vengeance ,  not  on  one  man  only ,  but  a  whole 
race !  Now  for  the  Nazarene." 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  35 


BOOK  II. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ROYAL  TENT  OF  SPAIN.  —  THE  RING  AND    THE   DOMINICAN.  —  THE  VISITOR 
AND    THE   HOSTAGE. 

Our  narrative  now  summons  us  to  the  Christian  armv , 
and  to  the  tent  in  which  the  Spanish  king  held  nocturnal 
counsel  with  some  of  his  more  conGdential  warriors  and 
advisers.  Ferdinand  had  taken  the  field  with  all  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  a  tournament  rather  than  of  a  cam- 
paign :  and  his  pavilion  literally  hlazed  with  purple  and 
cloth  of  gold. 

The  king  sate  at  the  head  of  a  table  on  which  were  scat- 
tered maps  and  papers  ^  nor  in  countenance  and  mien  did 
that  great  and  politic  monarch  seem  unworthy  of  the  bril- 
liant chivah-y  by  which  he  was  surrounded.  His  black  hair, 
richly  perfumed  and  anointed ,  fell  in  long  locks  on  either 
side  of  a  high  imperial  brow ;  upon  whose  calm  ,  though 
not  unfurrowed  surface ,  the  physiognomist  would  in  vain 
have  sought  to  read  the  inscrutable  heart  of  kings.  His  fea- 
tures were  regular  and  majestic  :  and  his  mantle ,  clasped 
with  a  single  jewel  of  rare  price  and  lustre ,  and  wrought  at 
the  breast  with  a  silver  cross,  waved  over  a  vigorous  and 
manly  frame,  which  derived  from  the  composed  and  tran- 
quil dignity  of  habitual  command,  that  imposing  effect  which 
many  of  the  renowned  knights  and  heroes  in  his  presence 
took  from  loftier  stature  and  ampler  proportions.  At  his 
right  hand  sat  Prince  Juan ,  his  son ,  in  the  first  bloom  of 
youth :  at  his  left ,  the  celebrated  "Rodrigo  Ponce  de  Leon  , 


36  LEILA  , 

Marquess  of  Cadiz  ^  along  the  table ,  in  the  order  of  their 
military  rank ,  were  seen  the  splendid  Duke  of  Medina  Si- 
donia ,  equally  noble  in  aspect  and  in  name  •,  the  worn  and 
thoughtful  countenance  of  the  Marquess  de  Villena  (the 
Bayard  of  Spain )  ^  the  melancholy  brow  of  the  heroic 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar  •,  and  the  gigantic  frame ,  the  animated 
features ,  and  sparkling  eyes ,  of  that  fiery  Hernando  de! 
Pulgar,  surnamed  '*  the  knight  of  the  exploits." 

"You  see,  senores,"  said  the  king,  continuing  an  address 
to  which  his  chiefs  seemed  to  listen  with  reverential  atten- 
tion, "  our  best  hope  of  speedily  gaining  the  city  is  rather 
in  the  dissensions  of  the  Moors  than  our  own  sacred  arms. 
The  walls  are  strong  ,  the  population  still  numerous  ^  and 
under  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan  the  tactics  of  the  hostile  army 
are,  it  must  be  owned ,  administered  with  such  skill  as  to 
threaten  very  formidable  delays  to  the  period  of  our  con- 
quest. Avoiding  the  hazard  of  a  fixed  battle ,  the  infidel 
cavalry  harass  our  camp  by  perpetual  skirmishes  ^  and  in 
the  mountain  defiles  our  detachments  cannot  cope  with 
their  light  horse  and  treacherous  ambuscades.  It  is  true , 
that  by  dint  of  time ,  by  the  complete  devastation  of  the 
Vega ,  and  by  vigilant  prevention  of  convoys  from  the  sea- 
towns  ,  we  might  starve  the  city  into  yielding.  But ,  alas ! 
my  lords,  our  enemies  are  scattered  and  numerous ,  and 
Granada  is  not  the  only  place  before  which  the  standard  of 
Spain  should  be  unfurled.  Thus  situated  ,  the  lion  does  not 
disdain  to  serve  himself  of  the  fox;  and,  fortunately,  we 
have  now  in  Granada  an  ally  that  fights  for  us.  1  have  ac- 
tual knowledge  of  all  that  passes  within  the  Alhambra  :  the 
king  yet  remains  in  his  palace,  irresolute  and  dreaming  5  and 
I  trust  that  an  intrigue ,  by  which  his  jealousies  are  aroused 
against  his  general,  Muza,  may  end  either  in  the  loss  of 
that  able  leader,  or  in  the  commotion  of  open  rebellion  or 
civil  war.  Treason  within  Granada  will  open  its  gates 
to  us." 

"Sire,"  said  Ponce  de  Leon,  after  a  pause,  "under 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  37 

your  counsels  I  no  more  doubt  of  seeing  our  banner  float- 
ing above  the  Vermilion  Towers ,  than  I  doubt  the  rising  of 
the  sun  over  yonder  hills  :  it  matters  little  whether  we  win 
by  stratagem  or  force.  But  I  need  not  say  to  your  highness, 
that  we  should  carefully  beware ,  lest  we  be  amused  by 
inventions  of  the  enemy,  and  trust  to  conspiracies  which 
may  be  but  lying  tales  to  blunt  our  sabres  and  paralyse  our 
action." 

"  Bravely  spoken ,  wise  de  Leon  I "  exclaimed  Hernando 
del  Pulgar,  hotly  :  "and  against  these  infidels,  aided  by 
the  cunning  of  the  Evil  One ,  methinks  our  best  wisdom 
lies  in  the  sword-arm.  Well  says  our  old  Castilian  proverb , 

*  Curse  them  devoutly, 
Hammer  them  stoutly.'" 

The  king  smiled  slightly  at  the  ardour  of  the  favourite 
of  his  army,  but  looked  round  for  more  deliberate  counsel. 

"Sire,''  said  Villena,  "far  be  it  from  us  to  inquire  the 
grounds  upon  which  your  majesty  builds  your  hope  of 
dissension  among  the  foe  :  but ,  placing  the  most  sanguine 
confidence  in  a  wisdom  never  to  be  deceived ,  it  is  clear 
that  we  should  relax  no  energy  within  our  means,  but  fight 
while  we  plot ,  and  seek  to  conquer  w^hile  we  do  not  neglect 
to  undermine." 

"  You  speak  well ,  my  lord ,"  said  Ferdinand,  thought- 
fully 5  "and  you  yourself  shall  head  a  strong  detachment 
to-morrow,  to  lay  waste  the  Vega.  Seek  me  two  hours 
hence;  the  council  for  the  present  is  dissolved." 

The  knights  rose ,  and  withdrew  with  the  usual  grave 
and  stately  ceremonies  of  respect ,  which  Ferdinand  ob- 
served to ,  and  exacted  from ,  his  court  :  the  young  prince 
remained. 

"  Son,"  said  Ferdinand ,  when  they  were  alone ,  "  early 
and  betimes  should  the  Infants  of  Spain  be  lessoned  in  the 
science  of  kingcraft.  These  nobles  are  among  the  brightest 
jewels  of  the  crown  ^  but  still  it  is  in  the  crown ,  and  for  the 


38       rr-   ,  :f;cv^  LEILA, 

crown ,  that  their  light  should  sparkle.  Thou  seest  how- 
hot  ,  and  flerce ,  and  warlike ,  are  the  chiefs  of  Spain  — 
excellent  virtues  when  manifested  against  our  foes  :  but 
had  we  no  foes ,  Juan ,  such  virtues  might  cause  us  exceed- 
ing trouble.  By  St.  Jago ,  I  have  founded  a  mighty  mo- 
narchy I  observe  how  it  should  be  maintained :  —  by  science, 
Juan ,  by  science!  and  science  is  as  far  removed  from  brute 
force  as  this  sword  from  a  crowbar.  Thou  seemest  bewilder- 
ed and  amazed ,  my  son  :  thou  hast  heard  that  I  seek  to 
conquer  Granada  by  dissensions  among  the  Moors  ^  when 
Granada  is  conquered,  remember  that  the  nobles  themselves 
are  a  Granada.  Ave  Maria!  blessed  be  the  Holy  Mother, 
under  whose  eyes  are  the  hearts  of  kings ! " 

Ferdinand  crossed  himself  devoutly ;  and  then ,  rising , 
drew  aside  a  part  of  the  drapery  of  the  pavilion ,  and  called, 
in  a  low  voice ,  the  name  of  Perez.  A  grave  Spaniard,  some- 
what past  the  verge  of  middle  age ,  appeared. 

"Perez,"  said  the  king,  reseating  himself,  "has  the 
person  we  expected  from  Granada  yet  arrived  ? " 

"Sire,  yes-,  accompanied  by  a  maiden." 

"  He  hath  kept  his  word :  admit  them.  Ha ,  holy  father ! 
thy  visits  are  always  as  balsam  to  the  heart." 

"  Save  you ,  my  son ! "  returned  a  man  in  the  robes  of  a 
Dominican  friar,  who  had  entered  suddenly  and  without 
ceremony  by  another  part  of  the  tent ,  and  who  now  seated 
himself  with  smileless  composure  at  a  little  distance  from 
the  king. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  some  moments ;  and  Perez 
still  lingered  within  the  tent ,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  the  en- 
trance of  the  friar  would  not  prevent  or- delay  obedience  to 
the  king's  command.  On  the  calm  face  of  Ferdinand  himself 
appeared  a  slight  shade  of  discomposure  and  irresolution , 
when  the  monk  thus  resumed : 

"  My  presence ,  my  son ,  will  not,  I  trust,  disturb  your 
conference  with  the  infidel  — •  sith  you  deem  worldly  policy 
demands  your  parley  with  the  men  of  Belial?" 


OR    THE    SII:GE    OF    GRANADA.  39 

''Doubtless  not  —  doubtless  not,"  returned  tbe  king, 
quickly  :  then,  mutterii.^  to  himself,  "how  wondrously 
doth  this  holy  man  penetrate  into  all  our  movements  and 
designs  I  " —  he  added ,  aloud  ,  "  Let  the  messenger  enter." 

Perez  bowed  and  withdrew. 

During  this  time  the  young  prince  rechned  in  listless 
silence  on  his  seat  ^  and  on  his  delicate  features  was  an 
expression  of  weariness  which  augured  but  ill  of  his  fitness 
for  the  stern  business  to  which  the  lessons  of  his  wise 
father  were  intended  to  educate  his  mind.  His,  indeed, 
was  the  age ,  and  his  the  soul ,  for  pleasure  ^  the  tumult  of 
the  camp  was  to  him  but  a  holiday  exhibition  —  the  march 
of  an  army,  the  exhilaration  of  a  spectacle^  the  court  was 
a  banquet-— the  throne,  the  best  seat  at  the  entertainment. 
The  hfe  of  the  heir-apparent ,  to  the  life  of  the  king-posses- 
sive ,  is  as  the  distinction  between  enchanting  hope  and 
tiresome  satiety. 

The  small  gray  eyes  of  the  friar  wandered  over  each  of 
his  royal  companions  with  a  keen  and  penetrating  glance, 
and  then  settled  in  the  aspect  of  humility  on  the  rich 
carpets  that  bespread  the  floor  •,  nor  did  he  again  lift  them 
till  Perez  ,  reappearing ,  admitted  to  the  tent  the  IsraeUte , 
Almamen ,  accompanied  by  a  female  figure ,  whose  long 
veil ,  extending  from  head  to  foot ,  could  conceal  neither 
the  beautiful  proportions  nor  the  trembling  agitation  of 
her  frame. 

"When  last,  great  king,  I  was  admitted  to  thy  pre- 
sence," said  Almamen,  "thou  didst  make  question  of  the 
sincerity  and  faith  of  thy  servant  ^  thou  didst  ask  me  for  a 
surety  of  my  faith  ;  thou  didst  demand  a  hostage  ;  and  didst 
refuse  further  parley  without  such  pledge  were  yielded  to 
thee.  Lo  I  I  place  under  thy  kingly  care  this  maiden — the 
sole  child  of  my  house — as  surety  of  my  truth  *,  I  intrust  to 
thee  a  life  dearer  than  my  own." 

"  You  have  kept  faith  with  us ,  stranger,"  said  the  king , 
in  that  soft  and  musical  voice  which  well  disguised  his 


40  LEILA, 

deep  craft  and  his  unrelenting  will-,  ^'and  the  maiden 
whom  you  intrust  to  our  charge  shall  be  ranked  with  the 
ladies  of  our  royal  consort." 

"Sire,"  replied  Almamen,  w^ith  touching  earnestness, 
*'you  now  hold  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  all  for 
whom  this  heart  can  breathe  a  prayer  or  cherish  a  hope, 
save  for  my  countrymen  and  my  religion.  This  solemn 
pledge  between  thee  and  me  I  render  up  without  scruple , 
without  fear.  To  thee  I  give  a  hostage ,  from  thee  I  have 
but  a  promise." 

"But  it  is  the  promise  of  a  king,  a  Christian,  and  a 
knight,"  said  the  king,  with  dignity  rather  mild  than 
arrogant;  "among  monarchs,  what  hostage  can  be  more 
sacred?  Let  this  pass  :  how  proceed  affairs  in  the  rebel 
city?" 

"  May  this  maiden  withdraw,  ere  I  answer  my  lord  the 
king?"  said  Almamen. 

The  young  prince  started  to  his  feet.  "  Shall  I  conduct 
this  new  charge  to  my  mother  ? "  he  asked ,  in  a  low  voice , 
addressing  Ferdinand. 

The  king  half  smiled  :  "The  holy  father  were  a  better 
guide ,"  he  returned ,  in  the  same  tone.  But ,  though  the 
Dominican  heard  the  hint ,  he  retained  his  motionless 
posture  \  and  Ferdinand  ,  after  a  momentary  gaze  on  the 
friar,  turned  away.  "  Be  it  so ,  Juan ,"  said  he,  with  a  look 
meant  to  convey  caution  to  the  prince;  "Perez  shall  ac- 
company you  to  the  queen  :  return  the  moment  your  mis- 
sion is  fulfilled  —  we  w^ant  your  presence." 

While  this  conversation  was  carried  on  between  the  fa- 
ther and  son,  the  Hebrew  was  whispering  ,  in  his  sacred 
tongue,  words  of  comfort  and  remonstrance  to  the  maiden : 
but  they  appeared  to  have  but  little  of  the  desired  effect  ^ 
and  ,  suddenly  falling  on  his  breast,  she  wound  her  arms 
around  the  Hebrew,  whose  breast  shook  with  strong 
emotions,  and  exclaimed  passionately,  in  the  same  lan- 
guage, "Oh,  my  father!  what  have  I  done?— why  send 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  41 

me  irom  thee?  —  why  intrust  thy  child  to  the  stranger? 
Spare  me ,  spare  me  I " 

"Child  of  my  heart!"  returned  the  Hebrew,  with 
solemn  but  tender  accents,  "even  as  Abraham  offered  up 
his  son,  must  I  offer  thee,  upon  the  altars  of  our  faith  ; 
but ,  O  Leila  I  even  as  the  angel  of  the  Lord  forbade  the 
offering,  so  shall  thy  youth  be  spared,  and  thy  years 
reserved  for  the  glory  of  generations  yet  unborn.  Ring  of 
Spain  I  "he  continued,  in  the  Spanish  tongue,  suddenly 
and  eagerly,  "  you  are  a  father  :  forgive  my  weakness,  and 
speed  this  parting." 

Juan  approached :  and ,  with  respectful  courtesy ,  at- 
tempted to  take  the  hand  of  the  maiden. 

^ '  You  I "  said  the  Israelite ,  with  a  dark  f rowTi .  "  O  king  I 
the  prince  is  young." 

"  Honour  knoweth  no  distinction  of  age,"  answered  the 
king.  "  What  ho ,  Perez  I  accompany  this  maiden  and  the 
prince  to  the  queen's  pavilion." 

The  sight  of  the  sober  years  and  grave  countenance  of 
the  attendant  seemed  to  reassure  the  Hebrew.  He  strained 
Leila  in  his  arms :  printed  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead  with- 
out removing  her  veil  ^  and  then,  placing  her  almost  in 
the  arms  of  Perez ,  turned  away  to  the  further  end  of  the 
tent ,  and  concealed  his  face  with  his  hands.  The  king 
appeared  touched^  but  the  Dominican  gazed  upon  the 
whole  scene  with  a  sour  scowl. 

Leila  still  paused  for  a  moment :  and  then ,  as  if  recover- 
ing her  self-possession  ,  said,  aloud  and  distinctly, — '*  Man 
deserts  me;  but  I  will  not  forget  that  God  is  over  all." 
Shaking  off  the  hand  of  the  Spaniard  ,  she  continued , 
"  Lead  on  ^  I  follow  thee  I "  and  left  the  tent  with  a  steady 
and  even  majestic  step. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  king,  when  alone  with  the  Domi- 
nican and  Almamen,  "  how  proceed  our  hopes?" 

"Boabdil,"  replied  the  Israelite,  "is  aroused  against 
both  his  army  and  their  leader,  Muza  .  the  king  will  not 


42  LEILA  , 

quit  the  Alhambra ;  and  this  morning ,  ere  1  left  the  city, 
Muza  himself  was  in  the  prisons  of  the  palace." 

"  How! "  cried  the  king,  starting  from  his  seat. 

"This  is  my  work,"  pursued  the  Hebrew,  coldly.  "It 
is  these  hands  that  are  shaping  for  Ferdinand  of  Spain  the 
keys  of  Granada." 

"  And  right  kingly  shall  be  your  guerdon,"  said  the 
Spanish  monarch  :  "meanwhile,  accept  this  earnest  of 
our  favour." 

So  saying,  he  took  from  his  breast  a  chain  of  massive 
gold,  the  links  of  which  were  curiously  inwrought  with 
gems,  and  extended  it  to  the  Israelite.  Almamen  moved 
not.  A  dark  flush  upon  his  countenance  bespoke  the  feel- 
ings he  with  difficulty  restrained. 

"  I  sell  not  my  foes  for  gold ,  great  king,"  said  he ,  with 
a  stern  smile  :  "I  sell  my  foes  to  buy  the  ransom  of  my 
friends." 

"  Churlish  I "  said  Ferdinand ,  offended ;  "  but  speak  on, 
man !  speak  on  I  " 

"If  I  place  Granada,  ere  two  weeks  are  past,  within 
thy  power,  what  shall  be  my  reward?" 

"  Thou  didst  talk  to  me ,  when  last  we  met,  of  immunities 
to  the  Jews." 

The  calm  Dominican  looked  up  as  the  king  spoke , 
crossed  himself,  and  resumed  his  attitude  of  humility. 

"  I  demand  for  the  people  of  Israel,"returned  Almamen, 
"free  leave  to  trade  and  abide  within  the  city,  and  follow 
their  callings,  subjected  only  to  the  same  laws  and  the 
same  imposts  as  the  Christian  population." 

"  The  same  laws,  and  the  same  imposts  I  Humph!  there 
are  diiTicultles  in  the  concession.    If  we  refuse?" 

"  Our  treaty  is  ended.  Give  me  back  the  maiden — you 
will  have  no  further  need  of  the  hostage  you  demanded  :  I 
return  to  the  city,  and  renew  our  interviews  no  more." 

Politic  and  cold-blooded  as  was  the  temperament  of  the 
great  Ferdinand ,  he  had  yet  the  imperious  and  haughty 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  43 

nature  of  a  prosperous  and  long-descended  king :  and  he 
bit  his  Hp  in  deep  displeasure  at  the  tone  of  the  dictatorial 
and  stately  stranger. 

''  Thou  usest  plain  language ,  my  friend,"'  said  he;  "my 
words  can  be  as  rudely  spoken.  Thou  art  in  my  power, 
and  canst  return  not,  save  at  my  permission." 

"  1  have  your  royal  word,  sire,  for  free  entrance  and 
safe  egress,"  answered  Almamen.  "Break  it,  and  Gra- 
nada is  with  the  floors  till  the  Darro  runs  red  with  the 
blood  of  her  heroes,  and  her  people  strew  the  vales  as  the 
leaves  in  autumn." 

"Art  thou  then  thyself  of  the  Jewish  faith?"  asked  the 
king.  "  If  thou  art  not,  wherefore  are  the  outcasts  of  the 
world  so  dear  to  thee? " 

"  My  fathers  were  of  that  creed ,  royal  Ferdinand  ^  and 
if  I  myself  desert  their  creed  ,  1  do  not  desert  their  cause. 
O  king  I  are  my  terms  scorned  or  accepted?" 

"  I  accept  them  :  provided  ,  first,  that  thou  obtainestthe 
exile  or  death  of  ]yluza :  secondly ,  that  within  two  \veeks 
of  this  date  thou  bringest  me ,  along  with  the  chief  coun- 
cillors of  Granada ,  the  wTitten  treaty  of  the  capitulation , 
and  the  keys  of  the  city.  Do  this  :  and ,  though  the  sole 
king  in  Christendom  who  dares  the  hazard ,  I  offer  to  the 
Israelites  throughout  Andalusia  the  common  laws  and 
rights  of  citizens  of  Spain  :  and  to  thee  I  will  accord  such 
dignity  as  may  content  thy  ambition." 

The  Hebrew  bowed  reverently,  and  drew^  from  his 
breast  a  scroll ,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  before  the 
king. 

"  This  writing ,  mighty  Ferdinand  ,  contains  the  articles 
of  our  compact." 

"  How,  knave !  wouldst  thou  have  us  commit  our  royal 
signature  to  conditions  with  such  as  thou  art ,  to  the 
chance  of  the  public  eye?  The  king's  word  is  the  king's 
bond ! " 

The  Hebrew  took  up  the  scroll  with  imperturbable  com- 


44  LEILA  , 

posure.  "  My  child ! "  said  he  —  ''  will  your  majesty  sum- 
mon back  my  child.?  we  would  depart." 

"A  sturdy  mendicant  this,  by  the  Virgin!"  muttered  the 
king-,  and  then,  speaking  aloud,  "  Give  me  the  paper,  I 
will  scan  it." 

Running  his  eyes  hastily  over  the  words ,  Ferdinand 
paused  a  moment ,  and  then  drew  towards  him  the  imple- 
ments of  writing ,  signed  the  scroll ,  and  returned  it  to  Al- 
mamen. 

The  Israelite  kissed  it  thrice  with  oriental  veneration , 
and  replaced  it  in  his  breast. 

Ferdinand  looked  at  him  hard  and  curiously.  He  was  a 
profound  reader  of  men's  characters^  but  that  of  his  guest 
baffled  and  perplexed  him. 

"  And  how,  stranger,"  said  he,  gravely,  —  "  how  can  I 
trust  that  man  who  thus  distrusts  one  king  and  sells  an- 
other?" 

"O  king!"  replied  Almamen  (accustomed  from  his 
youth  to  commune  with  and  command  the  possessors  of 
thrones  yet  more  absolute ) ,  —  "  O  king !  if  thou  believest 
me  actuated  by  personal  and  selfish  interests  in  this  our 
compact ,  thou  hast  but  to  make  my  service  minister  to  my 
interest,  and  the  lore  of  human  nature  will  tell  thee  that 
thou  hast  won  a  ready  and  submissive  slave.  But  if  thou 
thinkest  I  have  avowed  sentiments  less  abject ,  and  deve- 
loped qualities  higher  than  those  of  the  mere  bargainer  for 
sordid  power,  oughtest  thou  not  to  rejoice  that  chance  has 
thrown  into  thy  way  one  whose  intellect  and  faculties  may 
be  made  thy  tool?  If  I  betray  another,  that  other  is  my 
deadly  foe.  Dost  not  thou  ,  the  lord  of  armies ,  betray  thine 
enemy?  the  Moor  is  an  enemy  bitterer  to  myself  than  to 
thee.  Because  I  betray  an  enemy ,  am  I  unworthy  to  serve 
a  friend?  If  I ,  a  single  man  ,  and  a  stranger  to  the  Moor, 
can  yet  command  the  secrets  of  palaces ,  and  render  vain 
the  counsels  of  armed  men ,  have  I  not  in  that  attested  that  1 
am  one  of  whom  a  wise  king  can  make  an  able  servant  ? " 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  45 

'*  Thou  art  a  subtle  reasoner ,  my  friend , '  said  Ferdi- 
nand ,  smiling  gently.  •'  Peace  go  with  thee!  our  confe- 
rence for  the  time  is  ended.  ^Vhat  ho  ,  Perez  I  " 

The  attendant  appeared. 

"  Thou  hast  left  the  maiden  withjhe  queen?" 

''  Sire,  you  have  been  obeyed." 

"  Conduct  this  stranger  to  the  guard  who  led  him 
through  the  camp.  He  quits  us  under  the  same  protection. 
Farewell  I  Yet  stay— thou  art  assured  that  Muza  Ben  Abil 
Gazan  is  in  the  prisons  of  the  Moor?  " 

"  Yes." 

''  Blessed  be  the  Virgin  I  " 

"Thou  hast  heard  our  confer-ence  ,  Father  Tomas? " 
said  the  king ,  anxiously ,  when  the  Hebrew  had  with- 
drawn. 

''  I  have,  son." 

"  Did  thy  veins  freeze  with  horror? " 

"  Only  when  my  son  signed  the  scroll.  It  seemed  to  me 
then  that  I  saw  the  cloven  foot  of  the  tempter."    . 

"  Tush ,  father  I  the  tempter  would  have  been  more  wise 
than  to  reckon  upon  a  faith  which  no  ink  and  no  parch- 
ment can  render  vahd,  if  the  church  absolve  the  compact. 
Thou  understandest  me ,  father  ?  " 

"  I  do.  L  know  your  pious  heart  and  well-judging 
mind." 

"  Thou  wert  right ,"  resumed  the  king ,  musingly . 
"when  thou  didst  tell  us  that  these  caitiff  Jews  were 
waxing  strong  in  the  fatness  of  their  substance.  They  would 
have  equal  laws  —  the  insolent  blasphemers  I  " 

"  Son,"  said  the  Dominican,  with  earnest  adjuration, 
"  God ,  who  has  prospered  your  arms  and  councils,  will 
require  at  your  hands  an  account  of  the  power  intrusted  to 
you.  Shall  there  be  no  difference  between  His  friends  and 
His  foes  —  His  disciples  and  His  crucifiers? " 

"  Priest ,"  said  the  king ,  laying  his  hand  on  the  monk  s 
shoulder  ,  and  with  a  saturnine  smile  upon  his  countenance. 


46  LEILA, 

''  were  religion  silent  in  this  matter,  policy  has  a  voice 
loud  enough  to  make  itself  heard.  The  Jews  demand  equal 
rights  :  when  men  demand  equality  with  their  masters , 
treason  is  at  work ,  and  justice  sharpens  her  sword.  Equa- 
lity I  these  wealthy  u^rers !  Sacred  Virgin !  they  would  be 
soon  buying  up  our  kingdoms." 

The  Dominican  gazed  hard  on  the  king.   "  Son ,  I  trust 
thee ,"  he  said ,  in  a  low  voice ,  and  glided  from  the  tent. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    AMBUSH  ,    THE   STRIFE  ,    AND    THE    CAPTURE. 

The  dawn  was  slowly  breaking  over  the  wide  valley  of 
Granada ,  as  Aimamen  pursued  his  circuitous  and  solitary 
path  back  to  the  city.  He  was  now  in  a  dark  and  entangled 
hollow , .  covered  with  brakes  and  bushes ,  from  amidst 
which,  tall  forest  trees  rose  in  frequent  intervals ,  gloomy 
and  breathless  in  the  still  morning  air.  As ,  emerging  from 
this  jungle,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  the  towers  of  Granada 
gleamed  upon  him  ,  a  human  countenance  peered  from  the 
shade  ^  and  Aimamen  started  to  see  tvvo  dark  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  own. 

He  halted  abruptly ,  and  put  his  hand  on  his  dagger , 
when  a  low  sharp  whistle  from  the  apparition  before  him 
was  answered  around  —  behind  ^  and ,  ere  he  could  draw 
breath ,  the  Israelite  was  begirt  by  a  group  of  Moors ,  in 
the  garb  of  peasants. 

"Well,  my  masters,"  said  Aimamen,  calmly,  as  he 
encountered  the  wild  savage  countenances  that  glared  upon 
him,  "  think  you  there  is  aught  to  fear  from  the  solitary 
santon  ? " 

"  It  is  the  magician  ,"  whispered  one  man  to  his  neigh- 
bour —  "let  him  pass." 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANAUA.  47 

"  Nay ,"  was  the  answer ,  "  take  him  before  the  captain  ; 
we  have  orders  lo  seize  upon  all  we  meet." 

This  counsel  prevailed;  and,  gnashing  his  teeth  with 
secret  rage ,  Almamen  found  himself  hurried  along  by  the 
peasants  through  the  thickest  part  of  the  copse.  At  length 
the  procession  stopped  in  a  semicircular  patch  of  rank 
sward,  in  which  several  head  of  cattle  were  quietly  grazing, 
and  a  yet  more  numerous  troop  of  peasants  reclined  around 
upon  the  grass. 

"  Whom  have  we  here?"  asked  a  voice  which  startled 
back  the  dark  blood  from  Almamen's  cheek  ^  and  a  Moor 
of  commanding  presence  rose  from  the  midst  of  his  brethren, 
'  •  By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet ,  it  is  the  false  santon  I  What 
dost  thou  from  Granada  at  this  hour?" 

"  Noble  Muza ,"  returned  Almamen  — who,  though, 
indeed,  amazed  that. one  whom  he  had  imagined  his  vic- 
tim was  thus  unaccountably  become  his  judge,  retained, 
at  least ,  the  semblance  of  composure  —  *'  my  answer  is  to 
be  given  only  to  my  lord  the  king  ;  it  is  his  commands  that 
I  obey." 

"  Thou  art  aware,"  said  Muza,  frowning,  "  that  thy 
life  is  forfeited  without  appeal?  Whatsoever  inmate  of 
Granada  is  found  without  the  walls  between  sunrise  and 
sunset,  dies  the  death  of  a  traitor  and  deserter." 

"  The  servants  of  the  Alhambra  are  excepted,"  answered 
the  Israelite  ,  without  changing  countenance. 

"  Ah  I"  muttered  Muza ,  as  a  painful  and  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  cross  him  ,  ''  can  it  be  possible  that  the  rumour 
of  the  city  has  truth,  and  that  the  monarch  of  Granada  is 
in  treaty  with  the  foe?"  He  mused  a  little  ;  and  then ,  mo- 
tioning the  Moors  to  withdraw  ,  he  continued  aloud ,  "  Al- 
mamen ,  answer  me  truly  :  hast  thou  sought  the  Christian 
camp  with  any  message  from  the  king?" 

''  I  have  not." 

"  Art  thou  without  the  walls  on  the  mission  of  the 
king  ?" 


48  LEILA , 

*'  If  I  be  SO ,  I  am  a  traitor  to  the  king  should  I  reveal 
his  secret." 

"I  doubt  thee  much,  santon ,"  said  Muza,  after  a 
pause  ^ "  I  know  thee  for  my  enemy ,  and  I  do  believe  thy 
counsels  have  poisoned  the  king's  ear  against  me ,  his  peo- 
ple, and  his  duties.  But  no  matter,  thy  life  is  spared 
awhile  \  thou  remainest  with  us ,  and  with  us  shalt  thou 
return  to  the  king." 

*'  But,  noble  Muza "   . 

"  I  have  said!  Guard  the  santon  ^  mount  him  upon  one 
of  our  chargers-,  he  shall  abide  with  us  in  our  ambush." 

While  Almamen  chafed  in  vain  at  his  arrest ,  all  in  the 
Christian  camp  was  yet  still.  At  length  ,  as  the  sun  began 
to  lift  himself  above  the  mountains ,  first  a  murmur  ,  and 
then  a  din ,  betokened  warlike  preparations.  Several  par- 
ties of  horse  ,  under  gallant  and  experienced  leaders, 
formed  themselves  in  different  quarters ,  and  departed 
in  different  ways ,  on  expeditions  of  forage ,  or  in  the 
hope  of  skirmish  with  the  straggling  detachments  of 
the  enemy.  Of  these  ,  the  best  equipped  was  conducted 
by  the  Marquess  de  Villena  ,  and  his  gallant  brother, 
Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco.  In  this  troop  ,  too  ,  rode  many 
of  the  best  blood  of  Spain  •,  for  in  that  chivalric  army , 
the  officers  vied  with  each  other  who  should  most  eclipse 
the  meaner  soldiery  in  feats  of  personal  valour  •,  and  the 
name  of  Villena  drew  around  him  the  eager  and  ardent 
spirits  that  pined  at  the  general  inactivity  of  Ferdinand's 
poUtic  campaign. 

The  sun ,  now  high  in  heaven ,  glittered  on  the  splendid 
arms  and  gorgeous  pennons  of  Villena's  company  —  as , 
leaving  the  camp  behind ,  it  entered  a  rich  and  wooded  dis- 
trict that  skirts  the  mountain  barrier  of  the  Vega  —  the 
brilliancy  of  the  day ,  the  beauty  of  the  scene ,  the  hope 
and  excitement  of  enterprise ,  animated  the  spirits  of  the 
whole  party.  In  these  expeditions  strict  discipline  was 
often  abandoned ,  from  the  certaintv  that  it  could  be  re- 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  49 

sumed  at  need.  Conversation ,  gay  and  loud ,  interspersed 
at  times  with  snatches  of  song^  was  heard  amongst  the  sol- 
diery •,  and  in  the  nobler  group  that  rode  with  Villena,  there 
was  even  less  of  the  proverbial  gravity  of  Spaniards. 

"  Now ,  marquess ,"  said  Don  Estevon  de  Suzon ,  "  what 

wager  shall  be  between  us  ,  as  to  which  lance  this  day  robs^ 

Moorish  beauty  of  the  greatest  number  of  its  worshippers?" 

"  My  falchion  against  your  jennet ,"  said  Don  Alonzo 

de  Pacheco,  taking  up  the  challenge. 

"  Agreed.  But,  talking  of  beauty,  were  you  in  the 
queen's  pavilion  last  night,  noble  marquess  ?  it  was  enrich- 
ed by  a  new  maiden ,  whose  strange  and  sudden  appa- 
rition none  can  account  for.  Her  eyes  w- ould  have  eclipsed 
the  fatal  glance  of  Cava  ^  and,  had  I  been  Rodrigo,  I  might 
have  lost  a  crown  for  her  smile." 

"  Ay,"  said  Villena ,  "  I  heard  of  her  beauty  •,  some  hos- 
tage from  one  of  the  traitor  Moors ,  with  w^hom  the  king 
(the  saints  bless  him !)  bargains  for  the  city.  They  tell 
me  the  prince  incurred  the  queen's  grave  rebuke  for  his 
attentions  to  the  maiden." 

"  And  this  morning  I  saw  that  fearful  Father  Tomas 
steal  into  the  prince's  tent.  I  wish  Don  Juan  well  through 
the  lecture.-  The  monk's  advice  .  is  like  the  algarroba '  : 
when  it  is  laid  up  to  dry  it  may  be  reasonably  wholesome , 
but  it  is  harsh  and  bitter  enough  when  taken  fresh." 

At  this  moment ,  one  of  the  subaltern  officers  rode  up  to 
the  marquess  ,  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  Ha  I"  said  Villena  ,  "the  Virgin  be  praised  !  Sir 
knights ,  booty  is  at  hand.    Silence !  close  the  ranks." 

With  that,  mounting  a  little  eminence ,  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand ,  the  marquess  surveyed  the  plain  below ; 
and ,  at  some  distance ,  he  beheld  a  horde  of  Moorish  pea- 
sants driving  some  cattle  into  a  thick  copse.  The  word 
was  hastily  given ,  the  troop  dashed  on ,  every  voice  was 

'  The  algarroba  is  a  sort  of  leguminous  plant,  common  in  Spain. 


50  LEILA  , 

hushed ,  and  the  clatter  of  mail ,  and  the  sound  of  hoofs , 
alone  broke  the  delicious  silence  of  the  noonday  landscape. 
Ere  they  reached  the  copse ,  the  peasants  had  disappeared 
within  it.  The  marquess  marshalled  his  men  in  a  semi- 
circle round  the*trees,and  sent  on  a  detachment  to  the  rear, 
to  cut  off  every  egress  from  the  wood.  This  done,  the  troop 
dashed  within.  For  the  lirst  few  yards  the  space  was  more 
open  than  they  had  anticipated  :  but  the  ground  soon  grew 
uneven  ,  rugged  ,  and  almost  precipitous  \  and  the  soil ,  and 
the-  interlaced  trees ,  alike  forbade  any  rapid  motion  to  the 
horse.  Don  Alonzo  de  Pacheco ,  mounted  on  a  charger 
whose  agile  and  docile  limbs  had  been  tutored  to  every 
description  of  warfare,  and  himself  of  light  weight,  and 
incomparable  horsemanship  —  dashed  on  before  the  rest. 
The  trees  hid  him  for  a  moment^  when,  suddenly,  a 
wild  yell  was  heard  ,  and,  as  it  ceased  ,  uprose  the  solitary 
voice  of  the  Spaniard,  shouting,  "  Santiago ,  y  cierra 
Espana;  St.  Jago  ,  and  charge ,  Spain  I" 

Each  cavaher  spurred  forward  ^  when,  suddenly,  a  show- 
er of  darts  and  arrows  rattled  on  their  armour ;  and  up- 
sprung  ,  from  bush  ,  and  reeds ,  and  rocky  clift ,  a  number 
of  Moors ,  and  with  wild  shouts  swarmed  around  the  Spa- 
niards. 

"  Back  for  your  lives  !"  cried  Villena  ,  "  we  are  beset  — 
make  for  the  level  ground !" 

He  turned  —  spurred  from  the  thicket,  and  saw^  the  Pay- 
nim  foe  emerging  through  the  glen ,  line  after  line  of  man 
and  horse;  each  Moor  leading  his  slight  and  fiery  steed  by 
the  bridle,  and  leaping  on  it  as  he  issued  from  the  wood 
into  the  plain.  Cased  in  complete  mail ,  his  vizor  down  , 
his  lance  in  his  rest ,  Yillena  ( accompanied  by  such  of  his 
knights  as  could  disentangle  themselves  from  the  Moorish 
foot)  charged  upon  the  foe.  A  moment  of  fierce  shock 
passed  :  on  the  ground  lay  many  a  Moor,  pierced  through. 
by  the  Christian  lance  •,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  foe  , 
was  heard  the  voice  of  Villena  —  "  St.  Jago  to  the  rescue  V 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  51 

But  the  brave  marquess  stood  almost  alone ,  save  his  faithful 
chamberlain ,  Solier.  Several  of  his  knights  were  dismount- 
ed, and  swarms  of  Moors ,  with  lifted  knives,  gathered 
round  them  as  they  lay,  searching  for  the  joints  of  the  ar- 
mour, which  might  admit  a  mortal  wound.  Gradually, 
one  by  one  ,  many  of  Villena's  comrades  joined  their  lead- 
er; and  now  the  green  mantle  of  Don  x\lonzo  de  Pacheco 
was  seen  waving  without  the  copse ,  and  Villena  congratu- 
lated himself  on  the  safety  of  his  brother.  Just  at  that  mo- 
ment ,  a  Moorish  cavalier  spurred  from  his  troop  ,  and  met 
Pacheco  in  full  career.  The  Moor  was  not  clad ,  as  was 
the  common  custom  of  the  Paynim  nobles ,  in  the  heavv 
Christian  armour.  He  wore  the  light  flexile  mail  of  the 
ancient  heroes  of  x^raby  or  Fez.  His  turban  ,  which  was 
protected  by  chains  of  the  finest  steel  interwoven  with  the 
folds ,  was  of  the  most  dazzling  white  —  white  ,  also ,  w^ere 
his  tunic  and  short  mantle  ^  on  his  left  arm  hung  a  short  cir- 
cular shield  ;  in  his  right  hand  was  poised  a  long  and  slen- 
der lance.  As  this  Moor,  mounted  on  a  charger  in  whose 
raven  hue  not  a  white  hair  could  be  detected  ,  dashed  for- 
ward against  Pacheco  ,  both  Christian  and  Moor  breathed 
hard,  and  remained  passive.  Either  nation  felt  it  as  a  sacri- 
lege to  thwart  the  encounter  of  champions  so  renowned. 

*' God  save  my  brave  'brother  I "  muttered  Villena, 
anxiously.  "Amen,"  said  those  around  him:  for  all  who 
had  ever  witnessed  the  Avildest  valour  in  that  w^ar,  trembled 
as  they  recognised  the  dazzhng  robe,  and  coal-black  charger, 
of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan.  ^~or  was  that  renowned  infidel 
mated  with  an  unworthy  foe.  "  Pride  of  the  tournament, 
and  terror  of  the  war,"  was  the  favourite  title  which  the 
knights  and  ladies  of  Castile  had  bestowed  on  Don  Alonzo 
de  Pacheco. 

When  the  Spaniard  saw  the  redoubted  Moor  approach  , 
he  halted  abruptly  for  a  moment ,  and  then ,  wheeling  his 
horse  round ,  took  a  wider  circuit  to  give  additional  impetus 
io  his  charge.  The  Moor,  aware  of  his  purpose,  halted  also, 


52  LEILA  , 

and  awaited  the  moment  of  his  rush  ;  when  once  more  he 
darted  forward ,  and  the  combatants  met  with  a  skill  which 
called  forth  a  cry  of  involuntary  applause  from  the  Christians 
themselves.  Muza  received  on  the  small  surface  of  his 
shield  the  ponderous  spear  of  Alonzo  ,  while  his  own  light 
lance  struck  upon  the  helmet  of  the  Christian ,  and ,  by  the 
exactness  of  the  aim ,  rather  than  the  weight  of  the  blow, 
made  Alonzo  reel  in  his  saddle. 

The  lances  were  thrown  aside  —  the  long  broad  falchion 
of  the  Christian ,  the  curved  Damascus  cimeter  of  the  Moor, 
gleamed  in  the  air.  They  reined  their  chargers  opposite 
each  other  in  grave  and  deliberate  silence. 

"  Yield  thee ,  sir  knight! "  at  length  cried  the  fierce  Moor, 
'*  for  the  motto  on  my  cimeter  declares  ,  that  if  thou  meetest 
its  stroke ,  thy  days  are  numbered.  The  sword  of  the  be- 
liever is  the  Key  of  Heaven  and  Hell  ^" 

"  False  Paynim ,"  answered  Alonzo ,  in  a  voice  that  rung 
hollow  through  his  helmet ,  "  a  Christian  knight  is  the  equal 
of  a  Moorish  army!  " 

Muza  made  no  reply,  but  left  the  rein  of  his  charger  on 
hisneck^  the  noble  animal  understood  the  signal,  and,  with 
a  short  impatient  cry,  rushed  forward  at  full  speed.  Alonzo 
met  the  charge  with  his  falchion  upraised  ,  and  his  whole 
body  covered  with  his  shield :  the  Moor  bent— the  Spaniards 
raised  a  shout  —  Muza  seemed  stricken  from*  his  horse.  But 
the  blow  of  the  heavy  falchion  had  not  touched  him  ^  and , 
seemingly  without  an  effort ,  the  curved  blade  of  his  own 
cimeter,  gliding  by  that  part  of  his  antagonist's  throat 
where  the  helmet  joins  the  cuirass ,  passed  unresistingly 
and  silently  through  the  joints^  and  Alonzo  fell  at  once, 
and  without  a  groan ,  from  his  horse  —  his  armour,  to  all 
appearance ,  unpenetrated ,  while  the  blood  oozed  slow  and 
gurgling  from  a  mortal  wound. 

"  Allah  il  Allah ! "  shouted  Muza ,  as  he  joined  his  friends  5 

'  Such ,  says  Sale ,  is  the  poetical  phrase  of  the  Mahometan  divines. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  53 

''  Lelilies !  Lelilies !  "  echoed  the  Moors  -/and  ere  the  Christ- 
ians recovered  their  dismay,  they  were  engaged  hand  to 
hand  with  their  ferocious  and  swarming  foes.  It  was ,  in- 
deed ,  fearful  odds ;  and  it  was  a  marvel  to  the  Spaniards , 
how  the  Moors  had  been  enabled  to  harbour  and  conceal 
their  numbers  in  so  small  a  space.  Horse  and  foot  alike 
beset  the  company  of  Villena ,  already  sadly  reduced  ^  and , 
while  the  infantry,  with  desperate  and  savage  fierceness, 
thrust  themselves  under  the  very  bellies  of  the  chargers , 
encountering  both  the  hoofs  of  the  steed  and  the  deadly 
lance  of  the  rider,  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  vulnerable  place 
for  the  sharp  Moorish  knife ,  —  the  horsemen ,  avoiding  the 
stern  grapple  of  the  Spanish  warriors ,  harassed  them  by  the 
shaft  and  lance  —  now  advancing ,  now  retreating ,  and  per- 
forming ,  with  incredible  rapidity,  the  evolutions  of  oriental 
cavalry.  But  the  life  and  soul  of  his  party  was  the  indo- 
mitable Muza.  With  a  rashness  which  seemed  to  the  super- 
stitious Spaniards  like  the  safety  of  a  man  protected  by 
magic,  he  spurred  his  ominous  black  barb  into  the  very 
midst  of  the  serried  phalanx  which  Villena  endeavoured  to 
form  around  him ,  breaking  the  orders  by  his  single  charge , 
and  from  time  to  time  bringing  to  the  dust  some  champion 
of  the  troop ,  by  the  noiseless  and  scarce-seen  edge  of  his 
fatal  cimeter. 

Villena ,  in  despair  alike  of  fame  and  life ,  and  gnawed 
with  grief  for  his  brother's  loss,  at  length  resolved  to  put  the 
last  hope  of  the  battle  on  his  single  arm.  He  gave  the  signal 
for  retreat-,  and,  to  protect  his  troop,  remained  himself, 
alone  and  motionless  on  his  horse ,  like  a  statue  of  iron. 
Though  not  of  large  frame,  he  was  esteemed  the  best  swords- 
man ,  next  only  to  Hernando  del  Pulgar  and  Gonsalvo  de 
Cordova ,  in  the  army  •,  practised  alike  in  the  heavy  as^ult 
of  the  Christian  warfare ,  and  the  rapid  and  dexterous  exer- 
cise of  the  Moorish  cavalry.  There  he  remained ,  alone  and 
grim  — a  lion  at  bay  —  while  his  troops  slowly  retreated 
down  the  Vega,  and  their  trumpets  sounded  loud  signals 


54  LEILA  , 

of  distress,  and  demandsjor  succour,  to  such  of  their  com- 
panions as  might  be  within  hearing.  Villena's  armour  defied 
the  shafts  of  the  Moors  -,  and  as  one  after  one  darted  towards 
him ,  with  whirling  cimeter  and  momentary  assault ,  few 
escaped  with  impunity,  from  an  eye  equally  quick ,  and  a 
weapon  more  than  equally  formidable.  Suddenly  a  cloud 
of  dust  swept  towards  him  ^  and  Muza ,  a  moment  before 
at  the  further  end  of  the  field  ,  came  glittering  through  that 
cloud ,  with  his  white  robe  waving ,  and  his  right  arm  bare. 
Villena  recognised  him,  set  his  teeth  hard,  and,  putting 
spurs  to  his  charger,  met  the  rush.  Muza  swerved  aside , 
just  as  the  heavy  falchion  swung  over  his  head ,  and ,  by  a 
back  stroke  of  his  own  cimeter,  shore  through  the  cuirass 
just  above  the  hip-joint ,  and  the  blood  followed  the  blade. 
The  brave  cavaliers  saw  the  danger  of  their  chief;  three  of 
their  number  darted  forward  ,  and  came  in  time  to  separate 
the  combatants. 

Muza  stayed  not  to  encounter  the  new  reinforcement , 
but ,  speeding  across  the  plain  ,  was  soon  seen  rallying  his 
own  scattered  cavalry,  and  pouring  them  down ,  in  one 
general  body,  upon  the  scanty  remnant  of  the  Spaniards. 

"  Our  day  is  come !  "  said  the  good  knight  Villena,  with 
bitter  resignation.  "Nothing  is  left  for  us,  my  friends, 
but  to  give  up  our  lives  —  an  example  how  Spanish  war- 
riors should  live  and  die.  May  God  and  the  Holy  Mother 
forgive  our  sins  ,  and  shorten  our  purgatory !  " 

Just  as  he  spoke ,  a  clarion  was  heard  at  a  distance ;  and 
the  sharpened  senses*  of  the  knights  caught  the  ring  of 
advancing  hoofs. 

'•We  are  saved  I  "  cried  Estevon  -de  Suzon ,  rising  on 
bis  stirrups.  While  he  spoke ,  the  dashing  stream  of  the 
Spanish  horse  broke  over  the  little  band  ;  and  Estevon 
beheld ,  bent  upon  himself,  the  dark  eyes  and  quivering 
lip  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan.  That  noble  knight  had  never, 
perhaps,  till  then  known  fear;  but  he  felt  his  heart  stand 
still,  as  he  now  stood  opposed  to  that  irresistible  foe. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  :>.") 

*'The  dark  fiend  guides  his  blade!  "  thought  De  Suzon  ; 
"  but  I  was  shriven  but  yestermorn."  The  thought  restored 
his  wonted  courage'^  and  he  spurred  on  to  meet  the  cimeter 
of  the  Moor. 

His  assault  took  [Nluza  by  surprise.  The  Moor's  horse 
stumbled  over  the  ground ,  cumbered  with  the  dead  and 
slippery  with  blood ,  and  his  uplifted  cimeter  could  not  do 
more  than  break  the  force  of  the  gigantic  arm  of  De  Suzon ; 
as  the  knight's  falchion  ,  bearing  down  the  cimeter,  and 
alighting  on  the  turban  of  the  Mahometan  ,  clove  midway 
through  its  folds,  arrested  only  by  the  admirable  temper  of 
the  links  of  steel  which  protected  it.  The  shock  hurled  the 
Moor  to  the  ground.  He  rolled  under  the  saddle-girths  of 
his  antagonist. 

"Victory  and  St.  Jago  I  "  cried  the  knight,  "  3Iuza 
is " 

The  sentence  was  left  eternally  unfinished.  The  blade  ol^ 
the  fallen  Moor  had  already  pierced  De  Suzon's  horse 
through  a  mortal  but  undefended  part.  It  fell,  bearing  his 
rider  with  him.  A  moment,  and  the  two  champions  lay 
together  grappling  in  the  dust :  in  the  next ,  the  short 
knife ,  which  the  Moor  wore  in  his  girdle ,  had  penetrated 
the  Christian's  vizor,  passing  through  the  brain. 

To  remount  his  steed  ,  that  remained  at  hand  ,  humbled 
and  motionless,  to  appear  again  amongst  the  thickest  of 
the  fray,  was  a  work  no  less  rapidly  accomplished  than  had 
been  the  slaughter  of  the  unhappy  Estevon  de  Suzon.  But 
now  the  fortune  of  the  day  was  stopped  in  a  progress 
hitherto  so  triumphant  to  the  3Ioors. 

Pricking  fast  over  the  plain ,  were  seen  the  glittering 
horsemen  of  the  Christian  reinforcements;  and,  at  the 
remoter  distance ,  the  royal  banner  of  Spain  ,  indistinctly 
descried  through  volumes  of  dust ,  denoted  that  Ferdinand 
himself  was  advancing  to  the  support  of  his  cavaliers. 

The  Moors,  however,  who  had  themselves  received 
manv  and  mysterious  reinforcements,  which  seamed  to 


•» 


56  '  LEILA  , 

spring  up  like  magic  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth  --  so 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  had  they  emerged  from  copse 
and  cleft  in  that  mountainous  and  entangled  neighbour- 
hood — -  were  not  unprepared  for  a  fresh  foe.  At  the  com- 
mand of  the  vigilant  Muza,  they  drew  off,  fell  into  order, 
and ,  seizing ,  while  yet  there  was  time,  the  vantage-ground 
which  inequalities  of  the  soil  and  the  shelter  of  the  trees 
gave  to  their  darts  and  agile  horse,  they  presented  an 
array  which  Ponce  de  Leon  himself,  who  now  arrived, 
deemed  it  more  prudent  not  to  assault.  While  Villena ,  in 
accents  almost  inarticulate  with  rage,  was  urging  the  Mar- 
quess of  Cadiz  to  advance ,  Ferdinand  ,  surrounded  by  the 
flower  of  his  court ,  arrived  at  the  rear  of  the  troops  ^  and , 
after  a  few  words  interchanged  with  Ponce  de  Leon,  gave 
the  signal  of  retreat. 

When  the  Moors  beheld  that  noble  soldiery  slowly 
breaking  ground,  and  retiring  towards  the  camp,  even 
Muza  could  not  control  their  ardour.  They  rushed  forward, 
harassing  the  retreat  of  the  Christians ,  and  delaying  the 
battle  by  various  skirmishes. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  headlong  valour  of  Hernando 
del  Pulgar ,  who  had  arrived  with  Ponce  de  Leon ,  dis- 
tinguished itself  in  feats  which  yet  live  in  the  songs  of  Spain. 
Mounted  upon  an  immense  steed ,  and  himself  of  colossal 
'strength  ,  he  w^as  seen  charging  alone  upon  the  assailants, 
and  scattering  numbers  to  the  ground  with  the  sweep  of 
his  enormous  and  two-handed  falchion.  With  a  loud  voice , 
he  called  on  Muza  to  oppose  him  \  but  the  Moor,  fatigued 
with  slaughter,  and  scarcely  recovered  from  the  shock  of 
his  encounter  with  De  Suzon  ,  reserved  so  formidable  a  foe 
for  a  future  contest. 

It  was  at  this  juncture,  while  the  field  was  covered  with 
straggling  skirmishers,  that  a  small  party  of  Spaniards ,  in 
cutting  their  way  to  the  main  body  of  their  countrymen 
through  one  of  the  numerous  copses  held  by  the  enemy, 
fell  in  at  the  outskirt  with  an  equal  number  of  Moors ,  and 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  57 

engaged  them  in  a  desperate  contlict ,  hand  to  hand. 
Amidst  the  infidels  was  one  man  who  took  no  part  in  the 
affray  :  at  a  little  distance ,  he  gazed  for  a  few  moments 
upon  the  fierce  and  relentless  slaughter  of  Moor  and  Christ- 
ian with  a  smile  of  stern  and  complacent  delight ;  and 
then ,  taking  advantage  of  the  general  confusion  ,  rode 
gently,  and ,  as  he  hoped ,  unobserved ,  away  from  the 
scene.  But  he  was  not  destined  so  quietly  to  escape.  A 
Spaniard  perceived  him,  and,  from  something  strange  and 
unusual  in  his  garb,  judged  him  one  of  the  Moorish  leaders-, 
and  presently  Almamen  ,  for  it  was  he,  beheld  before  him 
the  uplifted  falchion  of  a  foe  neither  disposed  to  give  quarter 
nor  to  hear  parley.  Brave  though  the  Israelite  was ,  many 
reasons  concurred  to  preyent  his  taking  a  personal  part 
against  the  soldier  of  Spain  5  and  ,  seeing  he  should  have 
no  chance  of  explanation ,  he  fairly  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  galloped  across  the  plain.  The  Spaniard  followed, 
gained  upon  him ,  and  Almamen  at  length  turned ,  in 
despair  and  the  wrath  of  his  haughty  nature. 

"Have  thy  will,  fool!"  said  he,  between  his  grinded 
teeth ,  as  he  griped  his  dagger  and  prepared  for  the  conflict. 
It  was  long  and  obstinate  ,  for  the  Spaniard  was  skilful  ^ 
and  the  Hebrew,  wearing  no  mail,  and  without  any  weapon 
more  formidable  than  a  sharp  and  well-tempered  dagger, 
was  forced  to  act  cautiously  on  the  defensive.  At  length 
the  combatants  grappled,  and ,  by  a  dexterous  thrust,  the 
short  blade  of  Almamen  pierced  the  throat  of  his  antagonist, 
who  fell  prostrate  to  the  ground. 

"I  am  safe,"  he  thought,  as  he  wheeled  round  his 
horse-,  when  ,  lo  !  the  Spaniards  he  had  just  left  behind  , 
and  who  had  now  routed  their  antagonists ,  were  upon 
him. 

"Yield  ,  or  die  !  "  cried  the  leader  of  the  troop. 

Almamen  glared  round  ;  no  succour  was  at  hand.  "  I  am 
not  your  enemy,"  said  he,  sullenly,  throwing  down  his 
weapon  —  "  bear  me  to  your  camp." 


58  LEILA  , 

A  trooper  seized  his  rein ,  and ,  scouring  along  ,  the  Spa- 
niards soon  reached  the  retreating  army. 

Meanwhile  the  evening  darkened ,  the  shout  and  the  roar 
grew  gradually  less  loud  and  loud  —  the  battle  had  ceased 
— ■  the  stragglers  had  joined  their  several  standards ;  and , 
by  the  light  of  the  first  star ,  the  Moorish  force ,  bearing 
their  wounded  brethren ,  and  elated  with  success ,  re-en- 
tered the  gates  of  Granada  ,  as  the  black  charger  of  the  hero 
of  the  day ,  closing  the  rear  of  the  cavalry ,  disappeared 
within  the  gloomy  portals. 


CHAPTER  ill. 

THE    HERO    I>    THE    POWER    OF    THE    DREAMER. 

It  was  in  the  same  chamber ,  and  nearly  at  the  same 
hour ,  in  which  we  first  presented  to  the  reader  Boabdil  el 
Chico ,  that  we  are  again  admitted  to  the  presence  of  that 
ill-starred  monarch.  He  was  not  alone.  His  favourite  slave, 
Amine,  reclined  upon  the  ottomans,  gazing  with  anxious 
love  upon  his  thoughtful  countenance ,  as  he  leant  against 
the  glittering  wall  by  the  side  of  the  casement ,  gazing  abs- 
tractedly on  the  scene  below. 

From  afar  he  beard  the  shouts  of  the  populace  at  the  re- 
turn of  Muza ,  and  bursts  of  artillery  confirmed  the  tidings 
of  triumph  which  had  already  been  borne  to  his  ear. 

"May  the  king  live  for  ever  I"  said  Amine,  timidly: 
"  his  armies  have  gone  forth  to  conquer.  ' 

"But  without  their  king,"  replied  Boabdil,  bilteriy, 
"  and  headed  by  a  traitor  and  a  foe.  I  am  meshed  in  the 
nets  of  an  inextricable  fate  I  " 

"  OhI  "  said  the  slave  ,  with  sudden  energy,  as,  clasping 
her  hands,  she  rose  from  her  couch,  —  "  oh,  my  lordl 


oil    THE    SIEGE    OF    GH A\\D.V.  59 

\Yuul<l  tliai  these  liumble  lips  dared  utter  other  words  than 
those  of  love !  " 

I     "  And  what  wise  counsel  would  they  give  me?"  asked 
Boabdil ,  with  a  faint  smile.    "  Speak  on." 

"  I  will  obey  thee,  then,  even  if  it  displease,"  .cried 
Amine :  and  she  rose ,  her  cheek  glowing ,  her  eyes  spar- 
kling, her  beautiful  form  dilated.  "  I  am  a  daughter  of  Gra- 
nada ^  I  am  the  beloved  ^^  king :  I  will  be  true  to  my  birth 
and  to  my  fortunes.  Boabdil  el  Chico ,  the  last  of  a  line  of 
heroes,  shake  off  these  gloomy  fantasies  —  these  doubts  and 
dreams  that  smother  the  lire  of  a  great  nature  and  a  kingly 
soul  I  Awake  —  arise  —  rob  Granada  of  her  Muza  —  be 
thyself  her  ^luza  I  Trustest  thou  to  magic  and  to  spells  ? 
grave  them,  then  ,  on  thy  breast-plate,  WTite  them  on  thy 
sword ,  and  live  no  longer  the  Dreamer  of  the  Alhambra  : 
become  the  saviour  of  tby  people  I  " 

Boabdil  turned ,  and  gazed  on  the  mspired  and  beautiful 
form  before  him  with  mingled  emotions  of  surprise  and 
shame.  "  Out  of  the  mouth  of  woman  cometh  my  rebuke !" 
said  he ,  sadly.    "  It  is  well  I  " 

"  Pardon  me,  pardon  me  I  "  said  the  slave,  falling  hum- 
bly at  his  knees;  "  but  blame  me  not  that  I  would  have 
thee  worthy  of  thyself.  Wert  thou  not  happier .  was  not 
thy  heart  more  light,  and  thy  hope  more  strong,  when  at 
the  head  of  thine  armies .  thine  own  cimeter  slew  thine  own 
foes ,  and  the  terror  of  the  Hero-King  spread  ,  in  flame  and 
slaughter,  from  the  mountains  to  the  seas?  Boabdil  I  dear 
as  thou  art  to  me  —  equally  as  I  would  have  loved  thee 
hadst  thou  been  born  a  lowly  fisherman  of  the  Darro , 
—  since  thou  art  a  king,  I  would  have  thee  die  a  king; 
even  if  my  own  heart  broke  as  I  armed  thee  for  thy  latest 
battle  I" 

"Thou  knowest  not  what  thou  sayest,  Amine,"  said 
Boabdil ,  "  nor  canst  thou  tell  what  spirits  that  are  not  of 
earth  dictate  to  the  actions ,  and  watch  over  the  desti- 
nies ,  of  the  rulers  of  nations.   If  I  delay  ,  if  I  linger ,  it 


60  .  LEILA  , 

is  not  from  terror ,  but  from  wisdom.  Trie  cloud  must 
gather  on ,  dark  and  slow ,  ere  the  moment  for  the  thun- 
derbolt arrives."  « 

"  On  thine  house  will  the  thunderbolt  fall,  since  over 
thine  own  house  thou  sufferest  the  cloud  to  gather ,"  said 
a  calm  and  stern  voice. 

Boabdil  started  •,  and  in  the  chamber  stood  a  third  person, 
in  the  shape  of  a  woman,  past  m^c^^le  age,  and  of  command- 
ing port  and  stature.  Upon  her  long-descending  robes  of 
embroidered  purple ,  were  thickly  woven  jewels  of.  royal 
price;  and  her  dark  hair ,  slightly  tinged  with  gray,  parted 
over  a  majestic  brow ,  while  a  small  diadem  surmounted  the 
folds  of  the  turban. 

"  My  mother  I "  said  Boabdil ,  with  some  haughty  reserve 
in  his  tone , ''  your  presence  is  unexpected." 

"  Ay,"  answered  Ayxa  la  Horra  ,  for  it  was  indeed  that 
celebrated,  and  haughty,  and  high-souled  queen,  "  and 
unwelcome  5  so  is  ever  that  of  your  true  friends.  But  not 
thus  unwelcome  w^as  the  presence  of  your  mother,  when  her 
brain  and  her  hand  dehvered  you  from  the  dungeon  in 
which  your  stern  father  had  cast  your  youth ,  and  the 
dagger  and  the  bowl  seemed  the  only  keys  that  would  un- 
lock the  cell." 

''  And  better  hadst  thou  left  the  ill-omened  son  that  thy 
womb  conceived  ,  to  die  thus  in  youth ,  honoured  and  la- 
mented ,  than  to  live  to  manhood ,  wrestling  against  an  evil 
star  and  a  relentless  fate." 

"  Son ,"  said  the  queen ,  gazing  upon  him  with  lofty  and 
half  disdainful  compassion,  "men's  conduct  shapes  out 
their  own  fortunes  ,  and  the  unlucky  are  never  the  valiant 
and  the  wise." 

"Madam,"  said  Boabdil,  colouring  with  passion,  "I 
am  still  a  king ,  nor  will  I  be  thus  bearded  —  withdraw  I  " 

Ere  the  queen  could  reply ,  an  eunuch  entered ,  and 
whispered  Boabdil. 

"  Ha ! "  said  he  joyfully ,  stamping  his  foot .  "  comes  he 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  61 

tlien  to  brave  the  lion  in  his  den  ?  Let  the  rebel  look  to  it. 
Is  he  alone  ? " 

"  x\lone,  great  king." 

'*Bi(i  my  guards  wait  without^  let  the  slightest  signal 
summon  them.  Amine,  retire!  Madam " 


a 


Son  I  "  interrupted  Ayxa  la  Horra ,  in  visible  agitation , 
"  do  I  guess  aright?  is  the  brave  Muza  —  the  sole  bulwark 
and  hope  of  Granada — whom  unjustly  thou  wouldst  last 
night  have  placed  in  chains  —  (chains  I  great  Prophet!  is  it 
thus  a  king  should  reward  his  heroes  I )  —  is,  I  say  ,  Muza 
here?  and  wilt  jthou  make  him  the  victim  of  his  own  ge- 
nerous trust?" 

"  Pvetire,  woman!  "  said  Boabdil,  sullenly. 

"  I  will  not ,  save  by  force !  I  resisted  a  fiercer  soul  than 
thine  when  I  saved  thee  from  thy  father.'* 

"  Remain ,  then ,  if  thou  wilt ,  and  learn  how  kings  can 
punish  traitors.    Mesnour,  admit  the  hero  of  Granada." 

Amine  had  vanished.  Boabdil  seated  himself  on  the 
cushions  —  his  face  calm  ,  but  pale.  The  queen  stood  erect 
at  a  little  distance ,  her  arms  folded  on  her  breast ,  and  her 
aspect  knit  and  resolute.  In  a  few  moments  Muza  entered, 
alone.  He  approached  the  king  with  the  profound  salutation 
of  oriental  obeisance  ^  and  then  stood  before  him ,  with 
downcast  eyes ,  in  an  attitude  from  which  respect  could  not 
divorce  a  natural  dignity  and  pride  of  mien. 

"  Prince ,"  said  Boabdil,  after  a  moment's  pause ,  "  yes- 
termorn ,  when  I  sent  for  thee ,  thou  didst  brave  my  orders. 
Even  in  mine  own  Alhambra  thy  minions  broke  out  in  mu- 
tiny ;  they  surrounded  the  fortress  in  which  thou  wert  to 
wait  my  pleasure  ^  they  intercepted  ,  they  insulted ,  they 
drove  back  my  guards  •,  they  stormed  the  towers  protected 
by  the  banner  of  thy  king.  The  governor ,  a  coward  or  a 
traitor ,  rendered  thee  to  the  rebellious  crowd.  Was  this 
all  ?  No  ,  by  the  Prophet  I  Thou ,  by  right  my  captive,  didst 
leave  thy  prison  but  to  head  mine  armies.  And  this  day , 
the  traitor  subject — the  secret  foe  — was  the  leader  of  the 


62  LEILA  , 

people  who  defy  a  king.  This  niglit  thou  oomest  to  me 
unsought.  Thou  feelest  secure  from  my  just  wrath  ,  even 
in  my  palace.  Thine  insolence  blinds  and  betrays  thee. 
Man ,  thou  art  in  my  power !   Ho ,  there  I " 

As  the  king  spoke ,  he  rose  ^  and ,  presently,  the  arcades 
at  the  back  of  the  pavilion  were  darkened  by  long  lines  of 
the  Ethiopian  guard ,  each  of  height  which ,  beside  the 
slight  Moorish  race ,  appeared  gigantic  •,  stolid  and  pas- 
sionless machines,  to  execute,  without  thought,  the  blood- 
iest or  the  hghtest  caprice  of  despotism.  There  they  stood  ^ 
their  silver  breast-plates  and  long  ear-rings ,  contrasting 
their  dusky  skins  •,  and  bearing ,  over  their  shoulders ,  jm- 
mense  clubs  studded  with  brazen  nails.  A  little  advanced 
from  the  rest,  stood  the  captain  ,  with  the  fatal  bowstring 
hanging  carelessly  on  his  arm ,  and  his  eyes  intent  to  catch 
the  slightest  gesture  of  the  king. 

'^  Behold  I"  said  Boabdil  to  his  prisoner. 

"  I  do  ^  and  am  prepared  for  what  I  have  foreseen." 

The  queen  grew  pale ,  but  continued  silent. 

Muza  resumed  — 

"  Lord  of  the  faithful!"  saidjie,  ''if  yestermorn  I  had 
acted  otherwise,  it  would  have  been  to  the  ruin  of  thy 
throne  and  our  common  race.  The  fierce  zegris  suspected 
and  learned  my  capture.  They  summoned  the  troops— 
they  dehvered  me,  it  was  true.  At  that  time,  had  I  rea- 
soned with  them ,  it  would  have  been  as  drops  upon  a 
flame.  They  were  bent  on  besieging  thy  palace  ,  perhaps 
upon  demanding  thy  abdication.  I  could  not  stifle  their 
fury,  but  I  could  direct  it.  In  the  moment  of  passion,  I 
led  them  from  rebellion  against  our  common  king  to  victory 
against  our  common  foe.  That  duty  done,  I  come  unscath- 
ed from  the  sword  of  the  Christian  to  bare  my  neck  to 
the  bowstring  of  my  friend.  Alone ,  untracked ,  unsus- 
pected ,  I  have  entered  thy  palace ,  to  prove  to  the  sove- 
reign of  Granada ,  that  the  defendant  of  his  throne  is  not  a 
rebel  to  his  will.  Now  summon  the  guards  —  I  have  done." 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  63 

"Muzal"  said  Boabdil,  in  a  sollened  voice,  while  he 
shaded  his  face  with  his  hand,  "we  played  together  as 
children ,  and  J  have  loved  thee  well  :  my  kingdom  even 
now ,  perchance  ,  is  passing  from  me  ,  but  I  could  almost 
be  reconciled  to  that  loss,  if  I  thought  thy  loyalty  had  not 
left  me." 

"Dost  thou,  in  truth,  suspect  the  faith  of  Muza  Ben 
Abil  Gazan  ? "  said  the  Moorish  prince ,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise and  sorrow.  "  Unhappy  king !  I  deemed  thai  my  ser- 
vices, and  not  my  defection  ,  made  my  crime." 

"  Why  do  my  people  hate  me?  why  do  my  armies  me- 
nace!" said  Boabdil,  evasively;  "why  should  a  subject 
possess  that  allegiance  which  a  king  cannot  obtain  ? " 

"  Because  ,"  replied  Muza ,  boldly,  "  the  king  has  dele- 
gated to  a  subject  the  command  he  should  himself  assume. 
Oh,  Boabdil!  "  he  continued,  passionately  ■—  "  friend  of  my 
boyhood ,  ere  the  evil  days  came  upon  us  ,  —  gladly  would 
1  sink  to  rest  beneath  the  dark  waves  of  yonder  river,  if 
thy  arm  and  brain  would  fill  up  my  place  amongst  the  war- 
riors of  Granada.  And  think  not  1  say  this  only  from  our 
boyish  love ;  think  not  I  have  placed  my  life  in  thy  hands 
only  from  that  servile  loyalty  to  a  single  man ,  which  the 
false  chivalry  of  Christendom  imposes  as  a  sacred  creed 
upon  its  knights  and  nobles.  But  I  speak  and  act  but  from 
one  principle— to  save  the  religion  of  my  father  and  the 
land  of  my  birth  :  for  this  I  have  risked  my  life  against  the 
foe ;  for  this  I  surrender  my  life  to  the  sovereign  of  my 
country.  Granada  may  yet  survive,  if  monarch  and  peo- 
ple unite  together.  Granada  is  lost  for  ever,  if  her  children, 
at  this  fatal  hour,  are  divided  against  themselves.  If,  then, 
1,  O  Boabdil!  am  the  true  obstacle  to  thy  league  with  thine 
own  subjects,  give  me  at  once  to  the  bowstring,  and  my 
sole  prayer  shall  be  for  the  last  remnant  of  the  Moorish 
name ,  and  the  last  monarch  of  the  Moorish  dynasty. " 

"  My  son  ,  my  son  !  art  thou  convinced  at  last?"  cried 
the  queen  ,  struggling  with  her  tears  •,  for  she  was  one  wiio' 


C4  LEILA  , 

wept  easily  at  heroic  sentiments ,  but  never  at  the  softer 
sorrows ,  or  from  the  more  womanly  emotions. 

Boabdil  lifted  his  head  with  a  vain  and  momentary  at- 
tempt at  pride  •,  his  eye  glanced  from  his  mother  to  his 
friend ,  and  his  better  feelings  gushed  upon  him  with  irre- 
sistible force  :  he  threw  himself  into  Muza's  arms. 

"  Forgive  me ,"  he  said ,  in  broken  accents  ,  "forgive 
me  I  How  could  I  have  wronged  thee  thus?  Yes,"  he 
continued ,  as  he  started  from  the  noble  breast  on  which 
for  a  moment  he  indulged  no  ungenerous  weakness ,  — 
"yes,  prince,  your  example  shames,  but  it  fires  me. 
Granada  henceforth  shall  have  two  chieftains  ^  and  if  I  be 
jealous  of  thee ,  it  shall  be  from  an  emulation  thou  canst 
not  blame.  Guards  ,  retire.  Mesnour !  ho  ,  Mesnour  I 
Proclaim  at  daybreak  that  I  myself  will  review  the  troops 
in  the  Vivarrambla.  Yet,"  —  and,  as  he  spoke,  his  voice 
faltered,  and  his  brow  became  overcast, —  "  yet ,  stay  5 
seek  me  thyself  at  daybreak ,  and  I  will  give  thee  my  com- 
mands." 

"  Oh ,  my  son  !  why  hesitate? "  cried  the  queen ,  "  why 
waver  ^    Prosecute  thine  ow^n  kingly  designs ,  and " 

"  Hush,  madam,"  said  Boabdil,  regaining  his  customary 
cold  composure-,  "and,  since  you  are  now  satisfied  with 
your  son ,  leave  me  alone  with  Muza." 

The  queen  sighed  heavily ;  but  there  was  something  in 
the  calm  of  Boabdil  which  chilled  and  awed  her  more  than 
his  bursts  of  passion.  She  drew  her  veil  around  her,  and 
passed  slowly  and  reluctantly  from  the  chamber. 

"  Muza ,"  said  Boabdil ,  when  alone  with  the  prince,  and 
fixing  his  large  and  thoughtful  eyes  upon  the  dark  orbs  of 
his  companion ,  —  "when  ,  in  our  younger  days  ,  we  con- 
versed together,  do  you  remember  how  often  that  converse 
turned  upon  those  solemn  and  mysterious  themes  to  which 
the  sages  of  our  ancestral  land  directed  their  deepest  lore  ; 
the  enigmas  of  the  stars  —the  science  of  fate  —  the  wild 
researches  into  the  clouded  future ,  which  wombs  the  des- 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  65 

tinies  of  nations  and  of  men  ?  Thou:  rememberest ,  Muza , 
that  to  such  studies  mine  own  vicissitudes  and  sorrows , 
even  in  childhood—  the  strange  fortunes  which  gave  me  in 
my  cradle  the  epithet  of  El  Zogoybi  —  the  ominous  predic- 
tions of  santons  and  astrologers  as  to  the  trials  of  my  earthly 
fate,  —all  contributed  to  inchne  my  soul.  Thou  didst  not 
despise  those  earnest  musings ,  nor  our  ancestral  lore  , 
though ,  unlike  me  ,  ever  more  inclined  to  action  than  to 
contemplation ,  that  which  thou  mightest  believe ,  had  little 
influence  upon  what  thou  didst  design.  With  me  it  hath 
been  otherwise  :  every  event  of  life  hath  conspired  to  feed 
my  early  prepossessions  j  and ,  in  this  awful  crisis  of  my 
fate ,  I  have  placed  myself  and  my  throne ,  rather  under 
the  guardianship  of  spirits  than  of  men.  This  alone  has 
reconciled  me  to  inaction  —  to  the  torpor  of  the  Alhambra 

—  to  the  mutinies  of  my  people.  I  have  smiled  when  foes 
surrounded  and  friends  deserted  me  ,  secure  of  the  aid  at 
last  —  if  1  bided  but  the  fortunate  hour  of  the  charms  of 
protecting  spirits  ,•  and  the  swords  of  the  invisible  creation. 
Thou  wonderest  what  this  should  lead  to.  Listen  I  Two 
nights  since  (and  the  king  shuddered )  I  was  with  the  dead  I 
My  father  appeared  before  me  —  not  as  I  knew  him  in  life 

—  gaunt  and  terrible,  full  of  the  vigour  of  health,  and  the 
strength  of  kingly  empire ,  and  of  fierce  passion  —  but 
wan,  calm ,  shadowy.  From  lips  on  which  Azrael  had  set 
his  livid  seal,  he  bade  me  beware  of  theeV 

The  king  ceased  suddenly  ^  and  sought  to  read ,  on  the 
face  of  Muza ,  the  effect  his  words  produced.  But- the  proud 
and  swarthy  features  of  the  Moor  evinced  no  pang  of  con- 
science ;  a  slight  smile  of  pity  might  have  crossed  his  lip  for 
a  moment ,  but  it  vanished  ere  the  king  could  detect  it. 
Boabdil  continued. 

"  Under  the  influence  of  this  warning ,  I  issued  the 
order  for  thy  arrest.  Let  this  pass  — I  resume  my  tale.  I 
attempted  to  throw  myself  at  the  spectre's  feet ,— it  glided 
from  me ,  motionless  and  impalpable.    I  asked  the  Dead 

5 


66  LEILA , 

One  if  he  forgave  his  unhappy  son  the  sin  of  rebeUion— 
alas  1  too  well  requited  even  upon  earth.  And  the  voice 
again  came  forth ,  and  bade  me  keep  the  crown  that  I  had 
gained ,  as  the  sole  atonement  for  the  past.  Then  again  I 
asked ,  whether  the  hour  for  action  had  arrived  ?  and  the 
spectre ,  while  it  faded  gradually  into  air,  answered ,  '  No  I' 
'  Oh  I '  I  exclaimed ,  '  ere  thou  leavest  me ,  be  one  sign 
accorded  me ,  that  I  have  not  dreamt  this  vision  ^  and  give 
me ,  I  pray  thee ,  note  and  warning ,  when  the  evil  star  of 
Boabdil  shall  withhold  its  influence,  and  he  may  strike, 
without  resistance  from  the  powers  above ,  for  his  glory 
and  his  throne/  *  The  sign  and  the  warning  are  bequeathed 
thee,'  answered  the  ghostly  image.  It  vanished,— thick 
darkness  fell  around ;  and ,  when  once  more  the  light  of 
the  lamps  we  bore  became  visible,  behold  there  stood 
before  me  a  skeleton ,  in  the  regal  robe  of  the  kings  of 
Granada,  and  on  its  grisly  head  was  the  imperial  diadem. 
With  one  hand  raised ,  it  pointed  to  the  opposite  wall , 
wherein  burned ,  like  an  orb  of  gloomy  fire ,  a  broad  dial- 
plate  ,  on  which  were  graven  these  words,  'beware — 
FEAR  NOT — ARM  I'  the  finger  of  the  dial  moved  rapidly 
round ,  and  rested  at  the  word ,  beware.  From  that  hour 
to  the  one  in  which  I  last  beheld  it,  it  hath  not  moved. 
Muza,  the  tale  is  done-,  wilt  thou  visit  with  me  this 
enchanted  chamber,  and  see  if  the  hour  be  come  I  "    . 

"  Commander  of  the  faithful ,"  said  Muza,  "  the  story  is 
dread  and  awful.  But  pardon  thy  friend — wert  thou  alone, 
or  was  the  santon  Almamen  thy  companion.?". 

"Why  the  question?"  said  Boabdil,  evasively,  and 
slightly  colouring. 

"I  fear  his  truth,"  answered  Muza-,  "the  Christian 
king  conquers  more  foes  by  craft  than  force  :  and  his  spies 
are  more  deadly  than  his  warriors.  Wherefore  this  caution 
against  me,  but  (pardon  me)  for  thine  own  undoing? 
W"ere  I  a  traitor,  could  Ferdinand  himself  have  endangered 
thy  crown  so  imminently  as  the  revenge  of  the  leader  of 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GllANADA.  67 

thine  own  armies?  Why,  too,  this  desire  to  keep  thee 
inactive  ?  For  the  brave  every  hour  hath  its  chances  ;  but , 
for  us,  every  hour  increases  our  peril.  If  we  seize  not  the 
present  time ,  our  supplies  are  cut  off,— and  famine  is  a 
foe  all  our  valour  cannot  resist.  This  dervise— who  is  he:* 
a  stranger,  not  of  our  race  and  blood.  But  this  morning  1 
found  him  without  the  walls,  nor  far  from  the  Spaniards' 
camp." 

'■Hal"  cried  the  king ,  quickly,  "and  what  said  he?" 

"  Little,  but  in  hints  •,  sheltering  himself,  by  those  hints, 
under  thy  name." 

"He!  what  dared  he  own ?  — Muza ,  what  were  these 
hints?" 

The  Moor  here  recounted  the  interview  with  x\lma- 
men  ,  his  detention ,  his  inactivity  in  the  battle ,  and  his 
subsequent  capture  by  the  Spaniards.  The  king  listened 
attentively,  and  regained  his  composure. 

"  It  is  a  strange  and  awful  man,"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 
"  Guards  and  chains  will  not  detain  him.  Ere  long  he  will 
return.  But  thou,  at  least,  Muza ,  art  henceforth  free, 
alike  from  the  suspicion  of  the  living ,  and  the  warnings 
of  the  dead.  No,  my  friend,"  continued  Boabdil,  with 
generous  warmth 5  "it  is  better  to  lose  a  crown,  to  lose 
life  itself,  than  confidence  in  a  heart  like  thine.  Come ,  let 
us  inspect  this  magic  tablet ;  perchance  —  and  how  my 
heart  bounds  as  I  utter  the  hope!— the  hour  may  have 
arrived." 


68  '*  LEILA, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  rt'LLER  \IEAV,  OF  THE  CHARACTER    OF   EOABDIL.  —  WUZA   IN   THE  CAREENS  OF 
HIS   BELOVED. 

MuzA  Ben  Abil  Gazan  returned  from  his  visit  to 
Boabdil  with  a  thoughtful  and  depressed  spirit.  His  argu- 
ments had  failed  to  induce  the  king  to  disdain  the  com- 
mand of  the  magic  dial ,  which  still  forbade  him  to  arm 
against  the  invaders  i  and  although  the  royal  favour  was 
no  longer  withdrawn  from  himself,  the  Moor  felt  that 
such  favour  hung  upon  a  capricious  and  uncertain  tenure 
so  long  QS  his  sovereign  was  the  slave  of  superstition  or 
imposture.  But  that  noble  warrior,  whose  character  the 
adversity  of  his  country  had  singularly  exalted  and  refined, 
even  while  increasing  its  natural  fierceness,  thought  little 
of  himself  in  comparison  with  the  evils  and  misfortunes 
which  the  king's  continued  irresolution  must  bring  upon 
Granada. 

"  So  brave ,  and  yet  so  weak  ( thought  he )  ^  so  weak  and 
yet  so  obstinate  ^  so  wise  a  reasoner,  yet  so  credulous  a 
dupe !  Unhappy  Boabdil  I  the  stars ,  indeed ,  seem  to  fight 
against  thee,  and  their  influences  at  thy  birth  marred 
all  thy  gifts  and  virtues  with  counteracting  infirmity  and 
error." 

Muza— more ,  perhaps ,  than  any  subject  in  Granada, — 
did  justice  to  the  real  character  of  the  king  ^  but  even  he 
was  unable  to  penetrate  all  its  complicated  and  latent 
mysteries.  Boabdil  el  Chico  was  no  ordinary  man  :  his 
affections  were  warm  and  generous ,  his  nature  calm  and 
gentle^  and,  though  early  powder,  and  the  painful  ex- 
perience of  a  mutinous  people  and  ungrateful  court,  had 
imparted  to  that  nature  an  irascibility  of  temper  and  a 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  69 

quickness  of  suspicion,  foreign  toils  earlier  soil,  he  was 
easily  led  back  to  generosity  and  justice  •,  and,  if  warm  in 
resentment,  was   magnanimous  in   forgiveness.    Deeply 
accomplished  in  all  the  learning  of  his  race  and  time ,  he 
^yas— in  books,  at  least— a  philosopher-,  and,  indeed,  his 
attachment  to  the  abstruser  studies  was  one  of  the  main 
causes  which  unfitted  him  for  his  present  station.   But  it 
was  the  circumstances  attendant  on  his  birth  and  child- 
hood that  had  perverted  his  keen  and  graceful  intellect  to 
morbid  indulgence  in  mystic  reveries,  and  all  the  doubt, 
fear,  and  irresolution  of  a  man  who  pushes  metaphysics 
into  the  supernatural  world.  Dark  prophecies  accumulated 
omens  over  his  head  •,  men  united  in  considering  him  born 
to  disastrous   destinies.    Whenever  he    had    sought  to 
wrestle  against   hostile  circumstances,    some  seemingly 
accidental  cause,  sudden  and  unforeseen,  had  blasted  the* 
labours  of  his  most  vigorous  energy,  — the  fruit  of  his 
most  deliberate  wisdom.   Thus,  by  degrees,  a  gloomy  and 
despairing  cloud   settled   over  his  mind  ^  but,    secretly 
sceptical  of  the  Mahometan  creed,  and  too  proud  and  san- 
guine to  resign  himself  wholly  and  passively  to  the  doc- 
trine of  inevitable  predestination ,  he  sought  to  contend 
against  the  machinations  of  hostile  demons  and  boding 
stars ,  not  by  human  but   spiritual  agencies.    Collecting 
around  him  the  seers  and  magicians  of  orient  fanaticism, 
he  lived  in  the  visions  of  another  world  ^  and ,  llattered  by 
the  promises  of  impostors  or  dreamers ,  and  deceived  by 
his  own  subtle  and  brooding  tendencies  of  mind,  it  was 
amongst  spells  and  cabala  that  he  thought  to  draw  forth 
the  mighty  secret  which  was  to  free  him  from  the  meshes 
of  the  preternatural  enemies  of  his  fortune ,   and  leave 
him  the  freedom  of  other  men   to  wrestle,  with   equal 
chances ,  against  peril  and  adversities.    It  was  thus  that 
Almamen  had  won  the  mastery  of  his  mind  •,  and ,  though 
upon  matters  of  common  and  early  import ,  or  solid  learn- 
ing, Boabdil  could  contend  with   sages,  upon   those  of 


70  LEILA, 

superstition  he  could  be  fooled  by  a  child.  He  was ,  in 
this ,  a  kind  of  Hamlet :  formed ,  under  prosperous  and 
serene  fortunes  ,  to  render  blessings  and  reap  renown  •,  but 
over  whom  the  chilling  shadow  of  another  world  had 
fallen — whose  soul  curdled  back  into  itself  —  whose  life 
had  been  separated  from  that  of  the  herd  — whom  doubts 
and  awe  drew  back ,  while  circumstances  impelled  onward 
—whom  a  supernatural  doom  invested  with  a  peculiar 
philosophy,  not  of  human  effect  and  cause  —  and  who , 
with  every  gift  that  could  ennoble  and  adorn ,  was  sud- 
denly palsied  into  that  moral  imbecility,  which  is  almost 
ever  the  result  of  mortal  visitings  into  the  haunted  regions 
of  the  Ghostly  and  Unknown.  The  gloomier  colourings  of 
his  mind  had  been  deepened ,  too ,  by  secret  remorse.  For 
the  preservation  of  his  own  life ,  constantly  threatened  by 
•  his  unnatural  predecessor,  he  had  been  early  driven  into 
rebellion  against  his  father.  In  age ,  infirmity,  and  blind- 
ness ,  that  fierce  king  had  been  made  a  prisoner  at  Salo- 
breiia  by  his  brother,  El  Zagal ,  Boabdil's  partner  in  re- 
bellion ^  and  dying  suddenly,  El  Zagal  was  suspected  of 
his  murder.  Though  Boabdil  was  innocent  of  such  a 
crime ,  he  felt  himself  guilty  of  the  causes  which  led  to  it ; 
and  a  dark  memory,  resting  upon  his  conscience,  served  to 
augment  his  superstition  and  enervate  the  vigour  of  his 
resolves  :  for,  of  all  things  that  make  men  dreamers,  none 
is  so  effectual  as  remorse  operating  upon  a  thoughtful  tem- 
perament. 

Revolving  the  character  of  his  sovereign ,  and  sadly 
foreboding  the  ruin  of  his  country ,  the  young  hero  of 
Granada  pursued  his  way ,  until  his  steps ,  almost  uncon- 
sciously ,  led  him  towards  the  abode  of  Leila.  He  scaled 
the  walls  of  the  garden  as  before  —  he  neared  the  house 
All  was  silent  and  deserted  :  his  signal  was  unanswered  — 
his  murmured  song  brought  no  grateful  light  to  the  lattice  , 
no  fairy  footstep  to  the  balcony.  Dejected,  and  sad  of 
heart,  he  retired  from  the  spot^  and  returning  home> 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GFxA.WDA.  71 

sought  a  couch  ,  to  which  even  all  the  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment he  had  undergone,  could  not  win  the  forgetfulness  of 
slumber.  The  mystery  that  wrapt  the  maiden  of  his  ho- 
mage ,  the  rareness  of  their  interviews  ,  and  the  wild  and 
poetical  romance  that  made  a  very  principle  of  the  chivalry 
of  the  Spanish  Moors ,  had  imparted  to  Muza's  love  for 
Leila  a  passionate  depth  ,  which ,  at  this  day ,  and  in  more 
enervated  climes,  is  unknown  to  the  Mahometan  lover.  His 
keenest  inquiries  had  been  unable  to  pierce  the  secret  of 
her  birth  and  station.  Little  of  the  inmates  of  that  guarded 
and  lonely  house  was  known  in  the  neighbourhood  :  the 
only  one  ever  seen  without  its  walls  was  an  old  man  of  the 
Jewish  faith ,  supposed  to  be  a  superintendent  of  the  foreign 
slaves  ( for  no  Mahometan  slave  would  have  been  subjected 
to  the  insult  of  submission  to  a  Jew  ;  and,  though  there 
were  rumours  of  the  vast  wealth  and  gorgeous  luxury  with- 
in the  mansion  .  it  was  supposed  the  abode  of  some  Moor- 
ish emir  absent  from  the  city  —and  the  interest  of  the  gos- 
sips was  at  this  time  absorbed  in  more  weighty  matters  than 
affairs  of  a  neighbour.  But  when ,  the  next  eve  ,  and  the 
next ,  Muza  returned  to  the  spot  equally  in  vain  ,  his  impa- 
tience and  alarm  could  no  longer  be  restrained  ^  he  re- 
solved to  lie  in  watch  by  the  portals  of  the  house  night  and 
day ,  until ,  at  least ,  he  could  discover  some  one  of  the  in- 
mates ,  whom  he  could  question  of  his  love ,  and  perhaps 
bribe  to  his  service.  As  with  this  resolution  he  was  hover- 
ing round  the  mansion  ,  he  beheld  ,  stealing  from  a  small 
door  in  one  of  the  low  wings  of  the  house  ,  a  bended  and 
decrepit  form  :  it  supported  its  steps  upon  a  stafT;  and,  as 
now  entering  the  garden  ,  it  stooped  by  the  side  of  a  foun- 
tain to  cull  flowers  and  herbs  by  the  light  of  the  moon  , 
the  Moor  almost  started  to  behold  a  countenance  which 
resembled  that  of  some  ghoul  or  vampire  haunting  the  pla- 
ces of  the  dead.  He  smiled  at  his  own  fear  :  and  ,  with  a 
quick  and  stealthy  pace ,  hastened  through  th^  trees,  and  , 


72  LEILA  , 

gaining  the  spot  where  the  old  man  bent ,  placed  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder  ere  his  presence  was  perceived. 

Ximen ,  for  it  was  he ,  looked  round  eagerly ,  and  a  faint 
cry  of  terror  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  Hush !"  said  the  Moor ;  "  fear  me  not ,  I  am  a  friend. 
Thou  art  old ,  man  —  gold  is  ever  welcome  to  the  aged." 
As  he  spoke ,  he  dropped  several  broad  pieces  into  the 
breast  of  the  Jew ,  whose  ghastly  features  gave  forth  a  yet 
more  ghastly  smile  as  he  received  the  gift ,  and  mumbled 
forth, 

"  Charitable  young  man !  generous ,  benevolent ,  excel- 
lent young  man !" 

''Now  then ,"  said  Muza ,  "tell  me  — you  belong  to 
this  house  —  Leila ,  the  maiden  within  —  tell  me  of  her  — 
is  she  well?" 

"  I  trust  so,"  returned  the  Jew,  "  I  trust  so,  noble 
master." 

"  Trust  so  !  know  you  not  of  her  state?" 

"  Not  I  ^  for  many  nights  I  have  not  seen  her  ,  excellent 
sir,"  answered  Ximen  5  "  she  hath  left  Granada ,  she  hath 
gone.  You  waste  your  time ,  and  mar  your  precious  health 
amidst  these  nightly  dews  :  they  are  unwholesome ,  very 
unwholesome  ,  at  the  time  of  the  new  moon." 

"  Gone!"  echoed  the  Moor^  "  left  Granada !  —  wo  is 
me !  —  and  whither  ?  there  ,  there  ,  more  gold  for  you ,  — 
—  old  man ,  tell  me  whither  ?" 

"Alas !  I  know  not ,  most  magnanimous  young  man  ; 
I  am  but  a  servant,  I  know  nothing." 

"  When  will  she  return  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  thee." 

"  Who  is  thy  master?  who  owns  yon  mans.ion?" 

Ximen's  countenance  fell  •,  he  looked  round  in  doubt  and 
fear,  and  then,  after  a  short  pause,  answered ,  —  "A  weal- 
thy man ,  good  sir  —  a  Moor  of  Africa  :  but  he  hath 
also  gone  j  he  but  seldom  visits  us  ^  Granada  is  not  so 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  73 

peaceful  a  residence  as  it  was ,  —  I  would  go  too ,  if  I 
could." 

Muza  released  his  hold  of  Ximen,  who  gazed  at  the 
Moor's  working  countenance  with  a  malignant  smile  —  for 
Ximen  hated  all  men. 

"  Thou  hast  done  with  me,  young  warrior?  Pleasant 
dreams  to  thee  under  the  new  moon  —  thou  hadst  best  re- 
tire to  thy  bed.  Farewell !  bless  thy  charity  to  the  poor 
old  man !" 

Muza  heard  him  not  \  he  remained  motionless  for 
some  moments  •,  and  then  w^ith  a  heavy  sigh  ,  as  that  of  one 
who  has  gained  the  mastery  of  himself  after  a  bitter  strug- 
gle, he  said,  half-aloud,  "  Allah  4).^  with  thee,  Leila  I 
Granada  now  is  my  only  mistress." 


CHAPTER  V. 

boabdil's  reconciliation  -with  his  people. 

Several  days  had  elapsed  without  any  encounter  be- 
tween Moor  and  Christian  \  for  Ferdinand's  cold  and  sober 
policy  ,  warned  by  the  loss  he  had  sustained  in  the  ambush 
of  Muza ,  was  now  bent  on  preserving  rigorous  restraint 
upon  the  fiery  spirits  he  commanded.  He  forbade  all  par- 
ties of  skirmish ,  in  which  the  Moors  ,  indeed ,  had  usually 
gained  the  advantage  ,  and  contented  himself  with  occu- 
pying all  the  passes  through  which  provisions  could  arrive 
at  the  besieged  city.  He  commenced  strong  fortifications 
around  his  camp  ;  and ,  forbidding  assault  on  the.  Moors , 
defied  it  against  himself. 

Meanwhile,  Almamen  had  not  returned  to  Granada. 
No  tidings  of  his  fate  reached  the  king  ;  and  his  prolonged 
disappearance  began  to  produce  visible  and  salutary  effect 
upon  the  long  dormant  energies  of  Boabdil.    The  counsels 


74  LEILA  , 

of  Muza  ,  the  exhortations  of  the  queen-mother  ,  the  en- 
thusiasm of  his  mistress,  Amine,  uncounteracted  by  the  arts 
of  the  magician  ,  aroused  the  torpid  lion  of  his  nature.  But 
still  his  army  and  his  subjects  murmured  against  him  ^  and 
his  appearance  in  the  Vivarrambla  might,  possibly  ,  be  the 
signal  of  revolt.  It  was  at  this  time  that  a  most  fortunate 
circumstance  at  once  restored  to  him  the  confidence  and 
affections  of  his  people.  His  stern  uncle  ,  El  Zagal  —  once 
a  rival  for  his  crown  ,  and  whose  daring  valour  ,  ma- 
(ure  age  ,  and  military  sagacity  ,  had  won  him  a  powerful 
party  within  the  city  —  had  been  ,  some  months  since,  con- 
quered by  Ferdinand  ^  and,  in  yielding  the  possessions  he 
iield ,  had  been  rewarded  with  a  barren  and  dependent 
principality.  His  defeat ,  far  from  benefiting  Boabdil ,  had 
exasperated  the  Moors  against  their  king.  "  For,"  said 
ihey  ,  almost  with  one  voice,  "  the  brave  El  Zagal  never 
would  have  succumbed  had  Boabdil  properly  supported  his 
arms."  And  it  was  the  popular  discontent  and  rage  at 
El  Zagal's  defeat ,  which  had,  indeed  ,  served  Boabdil  with 
a  reasonable  excuse  for  shutting  himself  in  the  strong  for- 
tress of  the  Alhambia.  It  now  happened ,  that  El  Zagal , 
whose  dominant  passion  was  hatred  of  his  nephew ,  and 
whose  fierce  nature  chafed  at  its  present  cage  ,  resolved ,  in 
his  old  age ,  to  blast  all  his  former  fame  by  a  signal  treason 
10  his  country.  Forgetting  every  thing  but  revenge  against 
!iis  nephew ,  whom  he  was  resolved  should  share  his  own 
luin ,  he  armed  his  subjects ,  crossed  the  country ,  and  ap- 
peared at  the  head  of  a  gallant  troop  in  the  Spanish  camp  , 
•m  ally  with  Ferdinand  against  Granada.  When  this  was 
heard  by  the  Moors,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  their  indig- 
nant wrath  :  the  crime  of  El  Zagal  produced  an  instanta- 
neous reaction  in  favour  of  Boabdil  ^  the  crowd  surrounded 
the  Alhambra ,  and  with  prayers  and  tears  entreated  the 
forgiveness  of  the  king.  This  event  completed  the  con- 
quest of  Boabdil  over  his  own  irresolution.  He  ordained 
an  assembly  of  the  whole  army  in  the  broad  space  of  the 


OR   THK    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  T5 

Vivarrambia  :  and  when ,  at  break  of  day ,  he  appeared  in 
lull  armour  in  the  square,  with  :Muza  at  his  right  hand, 
himself  in  the  flower  of  youthful  beauty ,  and  proud  to  feel 
once  more  a  hero  and  a  king ,  the  joy  of  the  people  knew 
no  limit ;  the  air  was  rent  with  cries  of  '^  Long  live  Boabdil 
el  Chico  I"  and  the  young  monarch ,  turning  to  Muza  ,  with 
all  his  soul  upon  his  brow,  exclaimed,  "  Thehourhas  come 
—  I  am  no  longer  El  Zogoybi  I' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

lElLA.  HER  ^E^v  LOVER.  —  PORTRAIT   OF   THE  FIRST  1^QU1SIT0R  OF  SPA1>.  — 

THE  CHALICE  RETURNED  TO  THE  LIPS  OF  ALMAMEN. 

While  thus  the  state  of  events  within  Granada,  the 
course  of  our  story  transports  us  back  to  the  Christian 
camp.  It  was  in  one  of  a  long  line  of  tents,  that  skirted 
the  pavilion  of  Isabel ,  and  was  appropriated  to  the  ladies 
attendant  on  the  royal  presence ,  that  a  young  female  sate 
alone.  The  dusk  of  evening  already  gathered  around  ,  and- 
only  the  outline  of  her  form  and  features  was  visible.  But 
even  that,  imperfectly  seen,— the  dejected  attitude  of  the 
form,  the  drooping  head,  the  hands  clasped  upon  the 
knees ,  —  might  have  sufliced  to  denote  the  melancholy 
nature  of  the  reverie  which  the  maid  indulged. 

''Ah,"  thought  she,  ^'to  what  danger  am  I  exposed  I 
If  my  father,  if  my  lover  dreamed  of  the  persecution  to 
which  their  poor  Leila  is  abandoned  I " 

A  few  tears,  large  and  bitter,  broke  from  her  eyes,  and 
stole  unheeded  down  her  cheek.  At  that  moment ,  the  deep 
and  musical  chime  of  a  bell  was  heard  summoning  the  chiefs 
of  the  army  to  prayer  •,  for  Ferdinand  invested  all  his  worldly 
schemes  with  a  religious  covering  ,  and  to  his  politic  war 
he  sought  to  give  the  imposing  character  of  a  sacred 
crusade. 


/6  LEILA  , 

''That  sound,"  thought  she,  sinking  on  her  knees, 
"  summons  the  Xazarenes  to  the  presence  of  their  God.  It 
remJnds  me  ,  a  captive  by  the  waters  of  Babylon  ,  that  God 
is  ever  with  the  friendless.  Oh !  succour  and  defend  me , 
Thou  who  didst  look  of  old  upon  Ruth  standing  amidst 
the  corn ,  and  didst  watch  over  thy  chosen  people  in  the 
hungry  wilderness,  and  in  the  stranger's  land." 

Wrapt  in  her  mute  and  passionate  devotions,  Leila 
remained  long  in  her  touching  posture.  The  bell  had 
ceased  ^  all  without  was  hushed  and  still  —  when  the 
drapery ,  stretched  across  the  opening  of  the  tent ,  was 
lifted  ,  and  a  young  Spaniard  ,  cloaked  ,  from  head  to  foot, 
in  a  long  mantle ,  stood  within  the  space.  He  gazed  ,  in 
silence ,  upon  the  kneeling  maiden  5  nor  was  it  until  she 
rose  that  he  made  his  presence  audible. 

"  Ah ,  fairest  I "  said  he,  then  ,  as  he  attempted  to  take 
her  hand,  "thou  wilt  not  answer  my  letters  — see  me, 
then,  at  thy  feet.   It  is  thou  who  teachest  me  to  kneel." 

"  You ,  prince  !  "  said  Leila ,  agitated ,  and  in  great  and 
evident  fear.  —  "  Why  harass  and  insult  me  thus?  Am  I 
not  that  sacred  thing  —  a  hostage  and  a  charge?  and  is 
name ,  honour,  peace ,  all  that  woman  is  taught  to  hold 
most  dear,  to  be  thus  robbed  from  me ,  under  the  name  of 
a  love ,  dishonouring  to  thee  ,  and  an  insult  to  myself? " 

"Sweet  one,"  answered  Don  Juan,  with  a  slight  laugh, 
"thou  hast  learned ,  within  yonder  walls ,  a  creed  of  morals 
little  known  to  Moorish  maidens ,  if  fame  belies  them  not. 
Suffer  me  to  teach  thee  easier  morality  and  sounder  logic. 
It  is  no  dishonour  to  a  Christian  prince  to  adore  beauty  like 
thine  •,  it  is  no  insult  to  a  maiden  hostage  if  the  infant  of 
Spain  proffer  her  the  homage  of  his  heart.  But  we  waste 
time.  Spies,  and  envious  tongues  ,  and  vigilant  eyes,  are 
round  us  ^  and  it  is  not  often  that  I  can  baffle  them  ,  as  I 
have  done  now.  Fairest ,  hear  me !  "  and  this  time  he 
succeeded  in  seizing  the  hand ,  which  vainly  struggled 
against  his  clasp.  "_\ay,  why  so  coy?  what  can  female 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  77 

heart  desire,  that  my  love  cannot  shower  upon  thine? 
Speak  but  the  word  ,  enchanting  maiden  ,  and  I  will  bear 
thee  from  these  scenes,  unseemly  to  thy  gentle  eyes.  Amidst 
the  pavilions  of  princes  shalt  thou  repose  ^  and ,  amidst 
gardens  of  the  orange  and  the  rose .  shaU  thou  listen  to 
the  vows  of  thine  adorer.  Surely,  in  these  arms  thou  wilt 
not  pine  for  a  barbarous  home ,  and  a  fated  city.  And  if 
thy  pride,  sweet  maiden,  deafen  thee  to  the  voice  of  nature, 
learn  that  the  haughtiest  dames  of  Spain  would  bend  ,  in 
envious  court,  to  the  beloved  of  their  future  king.  This  , 
night  —  listen  to  me  — I  say,  listen  —this  night  I  will  bear 
thee  hence  !  Be  but  mine ,  and  no  malter,  whether  heretic 
or  infidel,  or  whatever  the  priests  style  thee,  neither  church 
nor  king  shall  tear  thee  from  the  bosom  of  thy  lover." 

"  It  is  well  spoken ,  son  of  the  Most  Christian  Monarch  I " 
said  a  deep  voice  •,  and  the  Dominican  Tomas  de  Torque- 
mada ,  stood  before  the  prince. 

Juan ,  as  if  struck  by  a  thunderbolt ,  released  his  hold  , 
and ,  staggering  back  a  few  paces ,  seemed  to  cower, 
abashed  and  humbled ,  before  the  eye  of  the  priest ,  as  it 
glared  upon  him  through  the  gathering  darkness. 

"Prince,"  said  the  friar,  after  a  pause,  "not  to  thee 
will  our  holy  church  attribute  this  crime  ^  thy  pious  heart 
hath  been  betrayed  by  sorcery.  Pvetire.'" 

"Father,"  said  the  prince,  —  in  a  'one  into  which, 
despite  his  awe  of  that  terrible  man ,  T4e  first  gra.nd 
INQUISITOR  OF  SPAIN,  his  libertine  spirit  involuntarily  forced 
itself,  in  a  half-latent  raillery,  —  "  sorcery  of  eyes  like  those 
bewitched  the  wise  son  of  a  more  pious  sire  than  even 
Ferdinand  of  Arragon." 

"  He  blasphemes  I  "  muttered  the  n.onk.  "  Prince  , 
beware  I  you  know  not  what  you  do." 

The  prince  lingered  ^  and  then ,  as  if  aware  that  he  must 
yield ,  gathered,  his  cloak  round  him ,  and  left  the  tent , 
without  reply. 

Pale  and  trembling,  —  with  fears  no  less  felt,  perhaps, 


78  LEILA, 

though  more  vague  and  perplexed  ,  than  those  from  which 
she  had  just  been  delivered ,  —  Leila  stood  before  the 
monk. 

"  Be  seated,  daughter  of  the  faithless,"  said  Torquemada, 
*'  we  would  converse  with  thee  :  and ,  as  thou  vainest  —  I 
say  not  thy  soul ,  for.  alas  I  of  that  precious  treasure  thou 
art  not  conscious  —  hut ,  mark  me,  woman  I  as  thou  prizest 
the  safety  of  those  delicate  limbs,  and  that  wanton  beauty, 
answer  truly  what  I  shall  ask  thee.  The  man  who  brought 
thee  hither  —  is  he ,  in  truth ,  thy  father  ? " 

"Alas  I  "  answered  Leila ,  almost  fainting  with  terror  at 
this  rude  and  menacing  address ,  "  he  is ,  in  truth ,  mine 
only  parent." 

' '  And  his  faith  —  nis  religion  ? " 

"I  have  never  beield  him  pray." 

"Hem !  he  never  prays  —  a  noticeable  fact.  But  of  what 
sect ,  what  creed ,  does  he  profess  himself  ? '" 

"  I  cannot  answer  thee." 

"Nay,  there  be  means  that  may  wring  from  thee  an 
answer.  Maiden ,  be  not  so  stubborn  ^  speak  I  thinkest 
thou  he  serves  the  temple  of  the  Mahometan  ?  " 

"ISoI  oh,  no!"  answered  poor  Leila,  eagerly,  deem- 
ing that  her  reply,  in  this ,  at  least ,  would  be  acceptable. 
"  He  disowns ,  he  scorns ,  he  abhors ,  the  Moorish  faith  — 
even  (she  added)  with  too  fierce  a  zeal." 

"  Thou  dost  not  share  that  zeal ,  then  ?  Well ,  worships 
he  in  secret  after  the  Christian  rites? " 

Leila  hung  her  head ,  and  answered  not. 

"  I  understand  thy  silence.  And  in  what  belief,  maiden, 
wert  thou  reared  beneath  his  roof?" 

"I  know  not  what  it  is  called  among  men ,"  answered 
Leila,  with  firmness,"  but  it  is  the  faith  of  the  one  God,  who 
protects  his  chosen  ,  and  shall  avenge  their  wrongs  —  the 
God  who  made  earth  and  heaven  -^  and  who,  in  an  idolatrous 
and  benighted  world,  transmitted  the  knowledge  of  Himself 
and  his  holy  laws,  from  age  to  age,  through  the  channel  of 


OK    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  79 

one  solitary  people  ,  in  the  plains  of  Palestine,  and  by  the 
waters  of  the  Hebron/" 

" And  in  that  faith  thou  wert  trained,  maiden,  by  thy 
father?"  said  the  Dominican,  calmly.  "I  am  satisfied. 
R.est  here  ,  in  peace  :  we  may  meet  again  ,  soon."^ 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  soft  and  tranquil  smile 
—  a  smile  in  which  glazing  eyes  and  agonising  hearts  had 
often  beheld  the  ghastly  omen  of  the  torture  and  the  stake. 

On  quitting  the  unfortunate  Leila,  the  monk  took  his  way 
towards  the  neighbouring  tent  of  Ferdinand.  But ,  ere  he 
reached  it ,  a  new  thought  seemed  to  strike  the  holy  man  ; 
he  altered  the  direction  of  his  steps ,  and  gained  one  of 
those  little  shrines  common  in  catholic  countries,  and  which 
had  been  hastily  built  of  wood ,  in  the  centre  of  a  small 
copse  ,  and  by  the  side  of  a  brawlmg  rivulet ,  towards  the 
back  of  the  king's  pavilion..  But  one  solitary  sentry,  at  the 
entrance  of  the  copse,  guarded  the  consecrated  place  :  and 
its  exceeding  loneliness  and  quiet  were  a  grateful  contrast 
to  the  animated  world  of  the  surrounding  camp.  The  monk 
entered  the  shrine,  and  fell  down  on  liis  knees  before  an 
image  of  the  Virgin  ,  rudely  sculptured,  indeed ,  but  richly 
decorated. 

"  Ah  ,  Holy  Mother ! "'  groaned  this  singular  man,  "  sup- 
port me  in  the  trial  to  which  I  am  appointed.  Thou  knowest 
that  the  glory  of  thy  blessed  Son  is  the  sole  object  for  which 
1  live ,  and  move,  and  have  my  being:  but  at  times,  alas  I 
the  spirit  is  infected  with  the  weakness  of  the  flesh.  Ora 
pro  nobis,  O  Mother  of  mercy  I  Verily,  oftentimes  my 
heart  sinks  within  me  when  it  is  mine  to  vindicate  the  ho- 
nour of  thy  holy  cause  against  the  young  and  the  tender, 
the  aged  and  the  decrepit.  But  what  are  beauty  and  youth  , 
gray  hairs  and  trembling  knees  ,  in  the  eye  of  the  Creator? 
Miserable  worms  are  we  alh  nor  is  there  any  thing  accept- 
able in  the  Divine  sight,  but  the  hearts  of  the  faithful. 
Youth  without  faith,  age  without  belief ,  purity  withoul 
grace,  virtue  without  holiness,  are  only  more  hideous  by 


80  LEILA  ,  ' 

their  seeming  beauty—  ^vhiled  sepulchres,  glittering  rotten- 
ness. I  know  this  — I  know  it^  but  the  human  man  is 
strong  within  nte.  Strengthen  me  ,  that  I  pluck  it  out^  so 
that,  by  diligent  and  constant  struggle  with  the  feeble 
Adam ,  thy  servant  may  be  reduced  into  a  mere  machine  , 
to  punish  the  godless  and  advance  the  church." 

Here  sobs  and  tears  choked  the  speech  of  the  Dominican  ^ 
he  grovelled  in  the  dust ,  he  tore  his  hair,  he  howled  aloud  : 
the  agony  was  fierce  upon  him.  At  length  ,  he  drew  from 
his  robe  a  whip ,  composed  of  several  thongs  ,  studded 
with  small  and  sharp  nails  ;  and  ,  stripping  his  gown  ,  and 
the  shirt  of  hair  worn  underneath ,  over  his  shoulders  , 
applied  the  scourge  to  the  naked  flesh ,  with  a  fury  which 
soon  covered  the  green  sward  with  the  thick  and  clotted 
blood.  The  exhaustion  which  followed  this  terrible  pe- 
nance seemed  to  restore  the  senses  of  the  stern  fanatic. 
A  smile  broke  over  the  features ,  that  bodily  pain  only  re- 
leased from  the  anguished  expression  of  mental  and  vision- 
ary struggles  5  and ,  when  he  rose ,  and  drew  the  hair- 
cloth shirt  over  the  lacerated  and  quivering  flesh  ,  he  said  , 
—  "  Zsow  hast  thou  deigned  to  comfort  and  visit  me  ,  O  pi- 
tying Mother^  and,  even  as  by  these  austerities  against 
this  miserable  body,  is  the  spirit  relieved  and  soothed  ,  so 
dost  thou  typify  and  betoken  ,  that  men's  bodies  are  not  to 
be  spared  by  those  who  seek  to  save  souls ,  and  bring  the 
nations  of  the  earth  into  thy  fold." 

"With  that  thought ,  the  countenance  of  Torquemada 
reassumed  its  wonted  rigid  and  passionless  composure*, 
and,  replacing  the  scourge,  yet  clotted  with  blood ,  into  his 
bosom ,  he  pursued  his  way  to  the  royal  tent. 

He  found  Ferdinand  poring  over  the  accounts  of  the  vast 
expenses  of  his  military  preparations ,  which  he  had  just 
received  from  his  treasurer  \  and  the  brow  of  the  thrifty , 
though  ostentatious  monarch ,  was  greatly  overcast  by  the 
examination. 

''  By  the  Bulls  of  Guizando!  "  said  the  king,  gravely,  "I 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    (;R.\>ADA.  81 

purchase  the  salvation  of  my  army,  in  this  holy  war,  at  a 
marvellous  heavy  price  ^  and ,  if  the  infidels  hold  out  much 
longer,  we  shall  have  to  pawn  our  very  patrimony  of  Ar- 
ragon. " 

^'Son,"  answered  the  Dominican,  "to  purposes  like 
thine,  fear  not  that  Providence  itself  will  supply  the  worldly 
means.  But  why  doubtest  thou?  are  not  the  means  within 
thy  reach  ?  It  is  just  that  thou  alone  shouldst  not  support 
the  wars  by  which  Christendom  is  glorified.  Are  there  not 
others? " 

"  1  know  what  thou  wouldst  say,  father,"  interrupted  the 
king,  quickly,  —  "  thou  wouldst  observe  that  my  brother 
monarchs  should  assist  me  with  arms  and  treasure.  Most 
just.  But  they  are  avaricious  and  envious ,  Tomas  •,  and 
Mammon  hath  corrupted  them." 

"  Nay,  not  to  kings  pointed  my  thought." 

"  Well,  then  ,"  resumed  the  king,  impatiently,  "  thou 
wouldst  imply  that  mine  own  knights  and  nobles  should 
yield  up  their  coffers ,  and  mortgage  their  possessions. 
And  so  they  ought  ^  but  they  murmur,  already,  at  what 
they  have  yielded  to  our  necessities." 

'*  And,  in  truth  ,"  rejoined  the  friar,  "  these  noble  war- 
riors should  not  be  shorn  of  a  splendour  that  well  becomes 
the  vahant  champions  of  the  church.  Nay,  listen  to  me  , 
son ,  and  I  may  suggest  a  means  Vvhereby,  not  the  friends  , 
but  enemies,  of  the  Catholic  faith  shall  contribute  to  the 
downfall  of  the  Paynim.  In  thy  dominions,  especially 
those  newly  won,  throughout  Andalusia,  in  the  kingdom 
of  Cordova ,  are  men  of  enormous  wealth  ^  the  very  ca- 
verns of  the  earth  are  sown  with  the  impious  treasure  they 
have  plundered  from  Christian  hands  ,  and  consume  in  the 
furtherance  of  their  iniquity.  Sire,  I  speak  of  the  race  that 
crucified  the  Lord." 

•'  The  Jews  —  ay,  but  the  excuse " 

"  Is  before  thee.  This  traitor,  with  whom  thou  boldest 
intercourse ,  who  vowed  (o  thee  to  render  up  Granada  . 

6 


82  LEILA , 

and  who  was  found ,  the  very  next  morning,  fighting  with 
the  Moors,  with  the  blood  of  a  Spanish  it  artyr  red  upon  his 
hands,  did  he  not  confess  that  his  fa l hers  were  of  that  hate- 
ful race?  did  he  not  bargain  with  thee  to  elevate  his  bre- 
thren to  the  rank  of  Christians  ?  and  has  he  not  left  with 
thee,  upon  false  pretences,  a  harlot  of  his  faith,  who,  by  sor- 
cery and  the  help  of  the  Evil  One,  hath  seduced  into  frantic 
passion  the  heart  of  the  heir  of  the  most  v  hristian  king? " 

"Ha  I  thus  does  that  libertine  boy  ever  scandalise  us ! " 
said  the  king  ,  bitterly. 

"  Well,"  i  ursued  the  Tominican,  not  heeding  the  inter- 
ruption ,  "  have  you  not  here  excuse  enough  to  wring  from 
the  whole  race  the  purchase  of  their  existence  ?  Note  the 
glaring  proof  of  this  conspiracy  of  hell.  The  outcasts  of  the 
earth  employed  this  crafty  agent  to  contract  with  thee  for 
power ',  and .  to  consummate  their  guilty  designs  ,  the  arts 
that  seduced  Solomon  are  employed  against  thy  son.  The 
beauty  of  the  strange  woman  captivates  his  senses  :  so  that, 
through  the  future  sovereign  of  Spain ,  the  counsels  of 
Jewish  craft  may  estabUsh  the  domination  of  Jewish  am- 
bition. How  knowest  thou  ( he  added ,  as  he  observed  that 
Ferdinand  listened  to  him  with  earnest  attention)  —  how 
knowest  thou  but  what  the  next  step  might  have  been  thy 
secret  assassination,  so  that  the  victim  of  witchcraft,  the 
minion  of  the  Jewess,  might  reign  in  the  stead  of  the  mighty 
and  unconquerable  Ferdinand  ? " 

"Go  on ,  father,"  said  the  king ,  thoughtfully ;  "  I  see , 
at  least,  enough  to  justify  an  impost  upon  these  servitors 
of  Mammon." 

"But,  though  common  sense  suggests  to  us,"  conti- 
nued Torquemada,  "  that  this  disguised  Israelite  could  not 
have  acted  on  so  vast  a  design  without  the  instigation  of 
his  brethren,  not  only  in  Granada ,  but  throughout  all  An- 
dalusia, —  would  it  not  be  right  to  obtain  from  him  his  con- 
fession, and  that  of  the  maiden,  within  the  camp,  so  that 
we  may  have  broad  and  undeniable  evidence,  whereon  to 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  83 

act,  and  to  still  all  cavil ,  that  may  come  not  only  from  the 
godless ,  but  even  from  the  too  tender  scruples  of  the  right- 
eous ?  Even  the  queen  —  whom  the  saints  ever  guard !  — 
hath  ever  too  soft  a  heart  for  these  infidels  ^  and " 

'^  Right ! "  cried  the  king ,  again  breaking  upon  Torque- 
mada;  "  Isabel,  the  queen  of  Castile,  must  be  satisfied  of 
the  justice  of  all  our  actions." 

"  And,  should  it  be  proved  that  thy  throne  or  life  were 
endangered ,  and  that  magic  was  exercised  to  entrap  her 
royal  son  into  a  passion  for  a  Jewish  maiden ,  which  the 
church  holds  a  crime  worthy  of  excommunication  itself , 
—  surely,  instead  of  counteracting ,  she  would  assist  our 
schemes." 

"  Holy  friend ,"  said  Ferdinand ,  with  energy,  "ever  a 
comforter,  both  for  this  world  and  the  next,  to  thee  and  to 
the  new  powers  intrusted  to  thee ,  we  commit  this  charge  : 
see  to  it  at  once  -,  time  presses  —  Granada  is  obstinate  — 
the  treasury  waxes  low." 

''Son,  thou  ^hast  said  enough,"  replied  the  Domini- 
can ,  closing  his  eyes ,  and  muttering  a  short  thanks-giving. 
"  Now,  then ,  to  my  task." 

"  Yet  stay,"  said  the  king ,  with  an  altered  visage  ^ ''  fol- 
low me  to  my  oratory  within  :  my  heart  is  heavy ,  and  I 
would  fain  seek  the  solace  of  the  confessional." 

The  monk  obeyed  :  and,  while  Ferdinand,  whose 
wonderful  abilities  were  mingled  with  the  weakest  super- 
stition ,  —  who  persecuted  from  policy,  yet  believed ,  in  his 
ow^n  heart ,  that  he  punished  but  from  piety ,  —  confessed , 
with  penitent  tears ,  the  grave  offences  of  aves  forgotten , 
and  beads  untold  ^  and  while  the  Dominican  admiDnished , 
rebuked ,  or  soothed ,  —  neither  prince  nor  monk  ever 
dreamt  that  there  was  an  error  to  confess  in,  or  a 
penance  to  be  adjuged  to ,  the  cruelty  that  tortured  a  fellow- 
being,  or  the  avarice  that  sought  pretences  for  the  extortion 
of  a  whole  people.  And  yet  we  are  told ,  by  some  philoso- 
phers ,  that  his  conscience  is  a  sufficient  guide  to  man! 


84  LEILA  , 


CHAPTER  \  II 


THE    TRIBUNAL    AND    THE    MIRACLE. 


It  was  the  dead  of  night — the  army  was  hushed  in  sleep 
—  when  four  soldiers ,  belonging  to  the  holy  brotherhood  ^ 
bearing  with  them  one  whose  manacles  proclaimed  him  a 
prisoner,  passed  in  steady  silence  to  a  huge  tent  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  royal  pavihon.  A  deep  dyke,  formidable  bar- 
I'icadoes ,  and  sentries  stationed  at  frequent  intervals,  tes- 
tified the  estimation  in  which  the  safety  of  this  segment  of 
the  camp  was  held.  The  tent  to  which  the  soldiers  ap- 
proached w.as ,  in  extent ,  larger  than  even  the  king's  pa- 
vilion itself— a  mansion  of  canvass,  surrounded  by  a  wide 
wall  of  massive  stones;,  and  from  its  summit  gloomed,  in 
the  clear  and  shining  starlight,  a  small  black  pennant,  on 
whtch  was  wrought  a  white  broad-pointed  cross.  The  sol- 
diers halted  at  the  gate  in  the  wall ,  resigned  their  charge , 
with  a  whispered  watchword,  to  two  gaunt  sentries^  and 
then  ( relieving  the  sentries  who  proceeded  on  with  the 
prisoner)  remained ,  mute  and  motionless ,  at  the  post :  for 
stern  silence  and  Spartan  discipline  were  the  attributes  of 
the  brotherhood  of  St.  Hermandad. 

The  prisoner ,  as  he  now^  neared  the  tent,  halted  a  mo- 
ment ,  looked  round  steadily,  as  if  to  fix  the  spot  in  his  re- 
membrance ,  and  then ,  with  an  impatient  though  stately 
gesture ,  foUow^ed  his  guards.  He  passed  two  divisions  of 
the  tent,  dimly  lighted  ,  and  apparently  deserted.  A  man, 
clad  in  long  black  robes ,  with  a  white  cross  on  his  breast , 
now  appeared^  there  was  an  interchange  of  signals  in 
dumb-show  —  and  in  another  moment  Almamen  ,  the  He- 
brew, stood  within  a  large  chamber  (if  so  that  division  of 
the  tent  might  be  called )  hung  with  black  serge.    At  the 


OR    THK    SIEGE    OF    G1{A>ADA.  85 

upper  part  of  the  space  was  an  estrado ,  or  platform ,  on 
which  ,  by  a  long  table  ,  sate  three  men  ^  while  ,  at  the  head 
of  the  board  ,  was  seen  the  cahn  and  rigid  countenance  of 
Tomas  de  Torqueraada.  The  threshold  of  the  tent  was 
guarded  by  two  men,  in  garments  similar  in  hue  and 
fashion  to  those  of  the  figure  who  had  ushered  Almamen 
into  the  presence  of  the  inquisitor,  each  bearing  a  long 
lance  ,  and  with  a  long  two-edged  sword  by  his  side. 
This  made  all  the  inhabitants  of  that  melancholy  and  omi- 
nous apartment.  *• 

The  Israelite  looked  round  with  a  pale  brow,  but  a  flash- 
ing and  scornful  eye  \  and ,  when  he  met  the  gaze  of  the 
Dominican ,  it  almost  seemed  as  if  those  two  men ,  each  so 
raised  above  his  fellows  by  the  sternness  of  his  nature,  and 
the  energy  of  his  passions ,  sought  by  a  look  alone  to  assert 
his  own  supremacy  and  crush  his  foe.  Yet,  in  truth, 
neither  did  justice  to  the  other ;  and  the  indignant  disdain 
of  Almamen  was  retorted  by  the  cold  and  icy  contempt  of 
the  Dominican. 

"  Prisoner,"'  said  Torquemada  ( the  first  to  withdraw  his 
gaze)  "a  less  haughty  and.  stubborn  demeanour  might 
have  better  suited  thy  condition  :  but  no  matter  v  our  church 
is  meek  and  humble.  AVe  have  sent  for  thee  in  a  charitable 
and  paternal  hope  \  for  although  ,  as  spy  and  traitor ,  thy  life 
is  already  forfeited ,  yet  would  we  fain  redeem  and  spare  it 
to  repentance.  That  hope  mayst  thou  not  forego ,  for  the 
nature  of  all  of  us  is  weak  and  clings  to  life  —  that  straw  of 
the  drowning  seaman." 

"  Priest,  if  such  thou  art,"  replied  the  Hebrew,  ^'  I  have 
already ,  when  first  brought  to  this  camp ,  explained  the 
causes  of  my  detention  amongst  the  troops  of  the  Moor.  It 
was  my  zeal  for  the  king  of  Spain  that  brought  me  into 
that  peril.  Escaping  from  that  peril ,  incurred  in  his  behalf, 
is  the  king  of  Spain  to  be  my  accuser  and  my  judge?  If, 
however ,  my  life  now  is  sought ,  as  the  grateful  return  for 
the  proff'er  of  inestimable  service ,  I  stand  here  to  yield  it. 


S6  LEILA  , 

Do  thy  worst  ^  and  tell  thy  master ,  that  he  loses  more  by 
my  death  than  he  can  win  by  the  lives  of  thirty  thousand 
warriors." 

"  Cease  this  idle  babble ,"  said  the  monk-inquisitor,  con- 
temptuously ,  "  nor  think  thou  couldst  ever  deceive,  with 
thy  empty  words,  the  mighty  intellect  of  Ferdinand  of 
Spain.  Thou  hast  now  to  defend  thyself  against  still  graver 
charges  than  those  of  treachery  to  the  king  whom  th(3u 
didst  profess  to  serve.  Yea ,  misbeliever  as  thou  art ,  it  is 
thine  to  vindicate  thyself  from  blasphemy  against  the  God 
thou  shouldst  adore.  Confess  the  truth  :  thou  art  of  the 
tribe  and  faith  of  Israel  ? " 

The  Hebrew  frowned  darkly.  *'  Man ,"  said  he ,  solemn- 
ly,  "  is  a  judge  of  the  deeds  of  men ,  but  not  of  their  opi- 
nions. I  will  not  answer  thee." 

"Pause!  We  have  means  at  hand  that  the  strongest 
nerves  and  the  stoutest  heart  have  failed  to  encounter. 
Pause  —  confess  I  " 

"  Thy  threat  awes  me  not,"  said  the  Hebrew  :  "  buti 
am  human  •,  and  since  thou  wouldst  know  the  truth ,  thou 
mayst  learn  it  without  the  torture.  I  am  of  the  same  race 
as  the  apostles  of  thy  church  —  I  am  a  Jew." 

"  He  confesses — write  down  the  words.  Prisoner,  thou 
hast  done  wisely  •,  and  we  pray  the  Lord  that,  acting  thus, 
thou  mayst  escape  both  the  torture  and  the  death.  And  in 
that  faith  thy  daughter  was  reared?  Answer." 

"  My  daughter!  there  is  no  charge  against  her!  By  the 
God  of  Sinai  and  Horeb ,  you  dare  not  touch  a  hair  of  that 
innocent  head!" 
"  Answ^er ,"  repeated  the  inquisitor ,  coldly. 
"  I  do  answer.  She  was  brought  up  no  renegade  to  her 
father's  faith." 

*' Write  down  the  confession.  Prisoner,"  resumed  the 
Dominican ,  after  a  pause,  **  but  few  more  questions  remain ; 
answer  them  truly ,  and  thy  life  is  saved.  In  thy  conspiracy 
lo  raise  thy  brotherhood  of  Andalusia  to  power  and  in- 


OR    THE    Sir.GE    OF   C^ANAD\.  87 

fluence  —  or ,  as  thou  ditJst  craftily  term  it ,  to  equal  laws 
with  the  followers  of  our  hissed  Lord  :  in  thy  conspiracy 
( by  what  dark  arts  I  seek  not  now  to  know  — protege  nos, 
beate  Dominel)  to  entangle  in  wanton  affections  to  thy 
daughter  the  heart  of  the  Infant  of  Spain  —  silence ,  I  say  — 
he  still !  in  this  conspiracy ,  thou  wert  aided ,  abetted ,  or 
instigated  by  certain  Jews  of  Andalusia " 

"  Hold,  priest  I  "  cried  Almamen  ,  impetuously  ,  "  thou 
didst  name  my  child.  Do  1  hear  aright?  Placed  under 
the  sacred  charge  of  a  king  and  «  belted  knight ,  has  she 
—  oh  I  answer  me  ,  I  implore  thee  —  been  insulted  by  the 
licentious  addresses  of  one  of  that  king's  own  Hneage? 
Answer !  I  am  a  Jew  —  but  I  ami  a  father ,  and  a  man." 

"  This  pretended  passion  deceives  us  not,"  said  the  Do- 
minican ( who ,  himself  cut  off  from  the  ties  of  life ,  knew 
nothingof  their  power).  "Reply  to  the  question  put  to 
thee  :  name  thy  accomplices." 

"  I  have  told  thee  all.  Thou  hsst  refused  to  answer  me. 
I  scorn  and  defy  thee  :  my  lips  are  closed.*' 

The  grand  inquisitor  glanced  to  his  brethren ,  and  raised 
his  hand.  His  assistants  whispered  each  other;  one  ol 
them  rose,  and  disappeared  behind  the  canvass  at  the 
back  of  the  tent.  Presently  the  hangings  were  withdrawn ; 
and  the  prisoner  beheld  an  interior  chamber,  hung  with 
various  instruments ,  the  nature  of  which  was  betrayed  by 
their  very  shape  ;  while  ,  by  the  rack,  placed  in  the  centre 
of  that  dreary  chamber,  stood  a  tall  and  grisly  Ggure , 
his  arms  bare ,  his  eyes  bent ,  as  by  an  instinct ,  on  the 
prisoner. 

Almamen  gazed  at  these  dread  preparations  with  an 
unflinching  aspect.  The  guards  at  the  entrance  of  the 
tent  approached  :  they  struck  off  the  fetters  from  his  feet 
and  hands ;  they  led  him  towards  the  appointed  place  of 
torture. 

Suddenly  the  Israelite  paused. 

•"  Priest."  said  he,  in  a  more  humble  accent  than  he 


88  .       LEILA  , 

had  yet  assumed,  "the  tidings  that  thou  didst  commu- 
nicate to  me ,  respecting  the  sole  daughter  of  my  house 
and  love,  bewildered  and  confused  me'  for  the  mo- 
ment. Suffer  me  but  for  a  single  moment  to  recollect  my 
senses ,  and  I  will  answer  without  compulsion  all  thou 
mayst  ask.    Permit  thy  questions  to  be  repeated." 

The  Dominican,  whose  cruelty  to  others  seemed  to 
himself  sanctioned  by  his  own  insensibility  to  fear,  and 
contempt  for  bodily  pain ,  smiled  with  bitter  scorn  at  the 
apparent  vacillation  and  weakness  of  the  prisoner ;  but  as 
he  delighted  not  in  torture,  merely  for  torture's  sake,  he 
motioned  to  the  guards  to  release  the  Israelite  ^  and  re- 
plied ,  in  a  voice  unnaturally  mild  and  kindly,  considering 
the  circumstances  of  the  scene, — 

"  Prisoner,  could  we  save  thee  from  pain ,  even  by  the 
anguish  of  our  own  flesh  and  sinews.  Heaven  is  our  judge 
that  we  would  willingly  undergo  the  torture  which  ,  with 
grief  and  sorrow,  we  ordained  to  thee.  Pause — take 
breath — collect  thyself.  Three  minutes  shalt  thou  have 
to  consider  what  course  to  adopt  ere  we  repeat  the 
question.  But  then  beware  how  thou  triflest  with  our 
indulgence." 

"It  suffices  —  I  thank  thee,"  said  the  Hebrew,  with  a 
touch  of  gratitude  in  his  voice.  As  he  spoke,  he  bent  his 
face  within  his  bosom,  which  he  covered ,  as  in  profound 
meditation ,  with  the  folds  of  his  long  robe.  Scarce  half 
the  brief  time  allowed  him  had  expired ,  when  he  again 
lifted  his  countenance,  and,  as  he  did  so ,  flung  back  his 
garment.  The  Dominican  uttered  a  loud  cry  ^  the  guards 
started  back  in  awe.  A  wonderful  change  had  come  over 
the  intended  victim  :  he  seemed  to  stand  amongst  them 
literally  wrapt  in  fire;  flames  burst  from  his  lip,  and  played 
with  his  long  locks ,  as ,  catching  the  glowing  hue ,  they 
curled  over  his  shoulders  ,  like  serpents  of  burning  light  : 
blood-red  were  his  breast  and  limbs ,  his  haughty  crest , 
and  his  outstretched  arm ;  and  as,  for  a  single  moment,  he 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAAADA.  89 

met  the  shuddering  eyes  of  his  judges,  he  seemed,  indeed, 
to  verify  all  the  superstitions  of  the  time  —  no  longer  the 
trembling  captive ,  but  the  mighty  demon ,  or  the  terrible 
magician. 

The  Dominican  was  the  first  to  recover  his  self-posses- 
sion. "  Seize  the  enchanter!  "  he  exclaimed^  but  no  man 
stirred.  Ere  yet  the  exclamation  had  died  on  his  lip ,  Alma- 
men  took  from  his  breast  a  vial,  and  dashed  it  on  the  ground 
—  it  broke  into  a  thousand  shivers  :  a  mist  rose  over  the 
apartment  —  it  spread  ,  thickened,  darkened,  as  a  sudden 
night  ]  the  lamps  could  not  pierce  it.  The  luminous  form 
of  the  Hebrew  grew  dull  and  dim ,  until  it  vanished  in  the 
shade.  On  every  eye  blindness  seemed  to  fall.  There  was 
a  dead  silence,  broken  by  a  cry  and  groan ;  and  when,  after 
some  minutes,  the  darkness  gradually  dispersed,  Almamen 
was  gone.  One  of  the  guards  lay  bathed  in  blood  upon  the 
ground ;  they  raised  him  :  he  had  attempted  to  seize  the 
prisoner,  and  been  stricken  with  a  mortal  wound.  He  died 
as  he  faltered  forth  the  explanation.  In  the  confusion  and 
dismay  of  the  scene,  none  noticed,  till  long  afterwards, 
that  the  prisoner  had  paused  long  enough  to  strip  the  dying 
guard  of  his  long  mantle  ^  a  proof  that  he  feared  his  more 
secret  arts  might  not  suffice  to  bear  him  safe  through  the 
camp ,  without  the  aid  of  worldly  stratagem. 

"  The  fiend  hath  been  amongst  us  I  "  said  the  Dominican, 
solemnly,  falUng  on  his  knees ,  -—  "  let  us  pray ! " 


90  LEILA  , 


BOOK  in. 


CHAPTER  1. 


ISABEL    AND   THE    JEWISH    MAIDEN. 


.  While  this  scene  look  place  before  the  tribunal  of  Tor- 
quemada ,  Leila  had  been  summoned  from  the  indulgence 
of  fears ,  which  her  gentle  nature  and  her  luxurious  nur- 
turing had  ill  fitted  her  to  contend  against,  to  the  presence 
of  the  queen.  That  gifted  and  high-spirited  princess,  whose 
virtues  were  her  own ,  whose  faults  were  of  her  age ,  was 
not ,  it  is  true ,  without  the  superstition  and  something  of 
the  intolerant  spirit  of  her  royal  spouse  :  but ,  even  where 
her  faith  assented  to  persecution  ,  her  heart  ever  inclined  to 
mercy  ^  and  it  was  her  voice  alone  that  ever  counteracted 
the  fiery  zeal  of  Torquemada ,  and  mitigated  the  sufferings 
of  the  unhappy  ones  who  fell  under  the  suspicion  of  heresy. 
She  had ,  happily,  too ,  within  her  a  strong  sense  of  justice, 
as  well  as  the  sentiment  of  compassion  ;  and  often ,  when 
she  could  not  save  the  accused ,  she  prevented  the  conse- 
quences of  his  imputed  crime  falling  upon  the  innocent 
members  of  his  house  or  tribe. 

In  the  interval  between  his  conversation  with  Ferdinand 
and  the  examination  of  Almamen ,  the  Dominican  had 
sought  the  queen  •,  and  had  placed  before  her,  in  glowing 
colours  ,  not  only  the  treason  of  Almamen  ,  but  the  conse- 
quences of  the  impious  passion  her  son  had  conceived  for 
Leila.  In  that  day ,  any  connexion  between  a  Christian 
knight  and  a  Jewess  was  deemed  a  sin,  scarce  expiable  •,  and 
Isabel  conceived  all  that  horror  of  her  son's  offence ,  which 


Orx    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  9f 

was  natural  in  a  pious  mother  and  a  haughty  queen.  Rut . 
despite  all  the  arguments  of  the  friar,  she  could  not  he  pre- 
vailed upon  to  render  up  Leila  to  tlie  tribunal  of  the  Inqui- 
sition ^  and  that  dread  court ,  but  newly  established ,  did 
not  dare,  without  her  consent .  to  seize  upon  one  under  the 
immediate  protection  of  the  queen. 

'•  Fear  not ,  father."  said  Isabel ,  with  quiet  firmness ,  — 
"  I  will  take  upon  myself  to  examine  the  maiden :  and,  at 
least  J I  will  see  her  removed  from  all  chance  of  tempting  or 
being  tempted  by  this  graceless  boy.  But  she  was  placed 
under  charge  of  the  king  and  myself  as  a  hostage  and  a 
trust :  we  accepted  the  charge .  and  our  royal  honour  is 
pledged  to  the  safety  of  the  maiden.  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  deny  the  existence  of  sorcery,  assured  as  we  are  of 
its  emanation  from  the  Evil  One :  but  I  fear,  in  this  fancy  of 
Juan's,  that  the  maiden  is  more  sinned  against  than  sinning : 
and  yet  my  son  is,  doubtless,  not  aware  of  the  unhappy 
faith  of  the  Jevi'essj  the  knowledge  of  which  alone  will  suf- 
fice to  cure  him  of  his  error.  You  shake  your  head .  father ; 
but ,  I  repeat ,  I  will  act  in  this  affair  so  as  to  merit  the  con- 
fidence I  demand.  Go,goodTomas.  We  have  not  reigned 
so  long ,  without  belief  in  our  power  to  control  and  deal 
with  a  simple  maiden.'" 

The  queen  extended  her  hand  to  the  monk,  with  a 
smile  ,  so  sweet  in  its  dignity ,  that  it  softened  even  that 
rugged  heart ;  and ,  with  a  reluctant  sigh  ,  and  a  murmured 
prayer  that  her  counsels  might  be  guided  for  the  best ,  Tor- 
quemada  left  the  royal  presence. 

"  The  poor  child  I"  thought  Isabel,  —  "  those  tender 
limbs  ,  and  that  fragile  form ,  are  ill  fitted  for  yon  monk's 
stern  tutelage.  She  seems  gentle  ;  and  her  face  has  in  it 
all  the  yielding  softness  of  our  sex  :  doubtless ,  by  mild 
means,  she  may  be  persuaded  to  adjure  her  wretched 
creed ,  and  the  shade  of  some  holy  convent  may  hide  her 
alike  from  the  licentious  gaze  of  my  son  ,  and  the  iron  zeal 
of  the  inquisitor.    I  will  spc  her." 


02  LEILA  , 

When  Leila  entered  the  queen's  pavilion ,  Isabel ,  who 
was  alone,  marked  her  trembling  step  with  a  compassio- 
nate eye  ;  and ,  as  Leila  ,  in  obedience  to  the  queen's  re- 
quest, threw  up  her  veil,  the  paleness  of  her  cheek,  and 
the  traces  of  recent  tears ,  pled  to  Isabel's  heart  with  more 
success  than  had  attended  all  the  pious  invectives  of 
Torquemada. 

"  Maiden,"  said  Isabel,  encouragingly,  "  I  fear  thou 
hast  been  strangely  harassed  by  the  thoughtless  caprjce  of 
the  young  prince.  Think  of  it  no  more.  But,  if  fhou 
art  what  I  have  ventured  to  believe ,  and  to  assert  thee  to 
be ,  cheerfully  subscribe  to  the  means  I  will  suggest  for 
preventing  the  continuance  of  addresses  which  cannot  but 
injure  thy  fair  name." 

"  Ah ,  madam  I"  said  Leila,  as  she  fell  on  one  knee  beside 
the  queen ,  "  most  joyfully ,  most  gratefully ,  will  I  accept 
any  asylum  which  proffers  solitude  and  peace." 

"  The  asylum  to  which  I  would  fain  lead  thy  steps," 
answered  Isabel ,  gently ,  *'  is  indeed  one  whose  solitude  is 
holy  —  whose  peace  is  that  of  heaven.  But  of  this  here- 
after. Thou  wilt  not  hesitate ,  then ,  to  quit  the  camp,  un- 
known to  the  prince ,  and  ere  he  can  again  seek  thee?" 

"  Hesitate,  madam?  Ah,  rather!  how  shall  I  express 
my  thanks?" 

"  I  did  not  read  that  face  misjudgingly ,"  thought  the 
queen,  as  she  resumed.  "  Be  it  so  ^  we  will  not  lose  an- 
other night.  Withdraw  yonder  ,  through  the  inner  tent  : 
the  litter  shall  be  straight  prepared  for  thee  ^  and  ere  mid- 
night thou  shalt  sleep  in  safety  under  the  roof  of  one  of 
the  bravest  knights  and  noblest  ladies  that  our  realm  can 
boast.  Thou  shalt  bear  with  thee ,  maiden ,  a  letter  that 
shall  commend  thee  specially  to  the  care  of  thy  hostess  — 
thou  wilt  find  her  of  a  kindly  and  fostering  nature.  And , 
oh ,  maiden  I"  added  the  queen  ,  with  benevolent  warmth , 
"  steel  not  thy  heart  against  her  —  hsten  with  ductile  sen- 
ses to  her  gentle  ministry ;  and  may  God  and  his  Son  pro- 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  93 

sper  that  pious  lady's  counsel ,  so  that  it  may  win  a  new 
strayling  to  the  Immortal  Fold  I" 

Leila  listened  and  wondered,  but  made  no  answer  ^  until, 
as  she  gained  the  entrance  to  the  interior  division  of  the 
tent,  she  stopped  abruptly  ,  and  said ,  — 

"  Pardon  me,  gracious  queen  ,  but  dare  1  ask  thee  one 
question  —  it  is  not  of  myself." 
"  Speak,  and  fear  not.' 

"  My  father  —  hath  aught  been  heard  of  him?  He  pro- 
mised ,  that  ere  the  fifth  day  were  past ,  he  would  once 
more  see  his  child  ^  and  ,  alas  I  that  date  is  past .  and  I  am 
still  alone  in  the  dwelling  of  the  stranger." 

'^  Unhappy  child I'^  muttered  Isabel  to  herself,  "  thou 
knowest  not  his  treason  nor  his  fate  —  yet  why  shouidst 
thou  ?  ignorant  of  what  would  render  thee  blest  hereafter , 
continue  ignorant  of  what  would  afflict  thee  here.  Be 
cheered,  maiden,"  answered  the  queen ,  aloud.  "  No  doubt 
there  are  reasons  sufficient  to  forbid  your  meeting.  But 
thou  Shalt  not  lack  friends  in  the  dwelling-house  of  the 
stranger." 

"  Ah  I  noble  queen  ,  pardon  me  ,  and  one  word  more. 
There  hath  been  with  me ,  more  than  once ,  a  stern  old 
man ,  whose  voice  freezes  the  blood  within  my  veins  ^  he 
questions  me  of  my  father,  and  in  the  tone  of  a  foe  who 
would  entrap  from  the  child  something  to  the  peril  of  the 
sire.  That  man  —  thou  knowest  him ,  gracious  queen  — 
he  cannot  have  the  power  to  harm  my  father?" 

''  Peace ,  maiden  I  the  man  thou  speakeat  of  is  the  priest 
of  God ,  and  the  innocent  have  nothing  to  dread  from  his 
reverend  zeal.  For  thyself,  I  say  again,  be  cheered;  in 
the  home  to  which  1  consign  thee,  thou  wilt  see  him  no 
more.  Take  comfort,  poor  child—  weep  not :  all  have  their 
cares-,  our  duty  is  to  bear  in  this  life,  reserving  hope  only 
for  the  next." 

The  queen  ,  destined  herself  to  those  domestic  afflictions 
which  pomp  cannot  soothe  ,  nor  power  allay ,  spoke  with  a 


94  LEILA  , 

prophetic  sadness  which  yet  more  touched  a  heart  that 
her  kinclDCSs  of  look  and  tone  had  already  softened  ;  and  , 
in  the  impulse  of  a  nature  never  tutored  in  the  rigid  cere- 
monials of  that  stately  court,  Leila  suddenly  came  forward  , 
and  faUing  on  one  knee ,  seized  the  hand  of  her  protectress, 
and  kissed  it  warmly  through  her  tears, 

"  Are  you,  too^  unhappy?"  she  said,  —  "  I  will  pray 
for  you  to  my  God!" 

The  queen  ,  surprised  and  moved  at  an  action  ,  which  , 
had  witnesses  been  present,  would  only,  perhaps  (for 
such  is  human  nature),  have  offended  her  Castilian  pre- 
judices ,  left  her  hand  in  Leila's  grateful  clasp  ^  and ,  lay- 
ing the  other  upon  the  parted  and  luxuriant  ringlets  of  the 
kneeling  maiden ,  said ,  gently ,  —  '*  And  thy  prayers  shall 
avail  thee  and  me  when  thy  God  and  mine  are  the  same. 
Bless  thee ,  maiden  !  I  am  a  mother ,  thou  art  motherless 
—  bless  thee!' 


CHAPTER  IL 

THE  TEMPTATION  OF  THE  JEWESS  ,  —  IN  WHICH  THE  HISTORY  PASSES  FROM  THE 
OUTWARD  TO  THE  INTERNAL. 

It  was  about  the  very  hour  ,  almost  the  very  moment , 
in  which  Almamen  effected  his  mysterious  escape  from  the 
tent  of  the  Inquisition ,  that  the  train  accompanying  the 
litter  which  bor-e  Leila ,  and  which  was  composed  of  some 
chosen  soldiers  of  Isabel's  own  body-guard  ,  after  travers- 
ing the  camp ,  winding  along  that  part  of  the  mountainous 
defile  which  w^as  in  the  possession  of  the  Spaniards ,  and 
ascending  a  high  and  steep  acclivity ,  halted  before  the  gates 
of  a  strongly  fortified  castle  renowned  in  the  chronicles  of 
that  memorable  war.  The  hoarse  challenge  of  the  sentry , 
the  grating  of  jealous  bars ,  the  clank  of  hoofs  upon  the 
rough  pavement  of  the  courts ,  and  the  streaming  glare  of 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    CHAN  ADA.        '  95 

torches  —  falling  upon  stern  and  bearded  visages ,  and 
imparting  a  ruddier  glow  to  the  moonlit  buttresses  and 
battlements  of  the  fortress  —  aroused  Leila  from  a  kind  of 
torpor  ,  rather  than  sleep ,  in  which  the  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment of  the  day  had  steeped  her  senses.  An  old  seneschal 
conducted  her  ,  through  vast  and  gloomy  halls  ,  (how  un- 
like the  brilliant  chambers  and  fantastic  arcades  of  her 
Moorish  home  I ;  to  a  huge  Gothic  apartment ,  hung  with 
the  arras  of  Flemish  looms.  In  a  few  moments ,  maidens, 
hastily  aroused  from  slumber,  grouped  around  her  with 
a  respect  which  would  certainly  not  have  been  accorded 
had  her  birth  and  creed  been  known.  They  gazed  with  sur- 
prise at  her  extraordinary  beauty  and  foreign  garb ,  and 
evidently  considered  the  new  guest  a  welcome  addition  to 
the  scanty  society  of  the  castle.  Under  any  other  circum- 
stances, the  strangeness  of  all  she  saw%  and  the  frowning 
gloom  of  the  chamber  to  v»-hich  she  was  consigned ,  would 
have  damped  the  spirits  of  one  whose  destiny  had  so  sud- 
denly passed  from  the  deepest  quiet  into  the  sternest  excite- 
ment. But  any  change  was  a  relief  to  the  roar  of  the  camp, 
the  addresses  of  the  prince,  and  the  ominous  voice  and 
countenance  of  Torquemada  ^  and  Leila  looked  around  her, 
with  the  feeling  that  the  queen's  promise  was  fulfilled ,  and 
that  she  was  already  amidst  the  blessings  of  shelter  and  re- 
pose. It  was  long ,  however ,  before  sleep  revisited  her 
eyelids,  and  when  she  woke  the  noonday  sun  streamed 
broadly  through  the  lattice.  By  the  bedside  sate  a  matron 
advanced  in  years,  bat  of  a  mild  and  prepossessing  coun- 
tenance ,  which  only  borrowed  a  yet  more  attractive  charm 
from  an  expression  of  placid  and  habitual  melancholy. 
She  was  robed  in  black-,  but  the  rich  pearls  that  were  in- 
terw^oven  in  the  sleeves  and  stomacher ,  the  jewelled  cross 
that  was  appended  from  a  chain  of  massive  gold  ,  and  ,  still 
more ,  a  certain  air  of  dignity  and  command  ,  —  bespoke , 
even  to  the  inexperienced  eye  of  Leila ,  the  evidence  of  su- 
perior station. 


96  LEILA  , 

"  Thou  bast  slept  late ,  daughter,"  said  the  lady,  with  a 
benevolent  smiley ''  may  thy  slumbers  have  refreshed  thee  I 
Accept  my  regrets  that  I  knew  not  till  this  morning  of  thine 
arrival,  or  I  should  have  been  the  first  to  welcome  the 
charge  of  my  royal  mistress." 

There  was  in  the  look ,  much  more  than  in  the  words,  o1 
the  Donna  Inez  de  Quexada ,  a  soothing  and  tender  in- 
terest that  was  as  balm  to  the  heart  of  Leila  5  in  truth  ,  she 
had  been  made  the  guest  of ,  perhaps ,  the  only  lady  in  Spain , 
of  pure  and  Christian  blood  ,  who  did  not  despise  or  exe- 
crate the  name  of  Leila's  tribe.  Donna  Inez  had  herself 
contracted  to  a  Jew  a  debt  of  gratitude  which  she  had 
sought  to  return  to  the  whole  race.  Many  years  before 
the  time  in  which  our  tale  is  cast ,  her  husband  and  herself 
had  been  sojourning  at  Naples,  then  closely  connected 
vdth  the  politics  of  Spain  ,  upon  an  important  state  mission. 
They  had  then  an  only  son ,  a  youth  of  a  wild  and  desul- 
tory character,  whom  the  spirit  of  adventure  allured  to  the 
East.  In  one  of  those  sultry  lands  the  young  Quexada 
w^as  saved  from  the  hands  of  robbers  by  the  caravanserai 
of  a  w^ealthy  traveller.  With  this  stranger  he  contract- 
ed that  intimacy  which  wandering  and  romantic  men 
often  conceive  for  each  other ,  without  any  other  sym- 
pathy than  that  of  the  same  pursuits.  Subsequently , 
he  discovered  that  his  companion  was  of  the  Jew- 
ish faith  \  and ,  with  the  usual  prejudice  of  his  birth  and 
time ,  recoiled  from  the  friendship  he  had  solicited  ,  and 
shrunk  from  the  sense  of  the  obligation  he  had  incurred  : 
he  quitted  his  companion.  AVearied,  at  length,  with  tra- 
vel, he  w^as  journeying  homeward,  when  he  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  and  virulent  fever,  mistaken  for  plague  :  all 
fled  from  the  contagion  of  the  supposed  pestilence  —  he 
was  left  to  die.  One  man  discovered  his  condition — watch- 
ed, tended,  and,  skilled  in  the  deeper  secrets  of  the  heal- 
ing art ,  restored  him  to  life  and  health  :  it  was  the  same 
Jew  who  had  preserved  him  from  the  robbers.    At  this  se- 


OR    THE    SIIX.F.    or    GRANADA.  97 

cond  and  mure  inestimable  obligation,  the  prejudices  of 
the  Spaniard  vanished  :  he  formed  a  deep  and  grateful 
attachment  for  his  preserver  ^  they  lived  together  for  some 
time ,  and   the  Israelite  finally   accompanied  the  young 
Quexada  to  Naples.    Inez  retained  a  lively  sense  of  the 
service  rendered  to  her  only  son ;  and  the  impression  had 
been  increased  ,  not  only  by  the  appearance  of  the  Israelite , 
which  .  dignified  and  stately ,  bore  no  hkeness  to  the  cring- 
ing servility  of  his  brethren ,  but  also  by  the  singular  beauty 
and  gentle  deportment  of  his  then  newly  wed  bride,  whom 
he  had  wooed  and  won  in  that  holy  land ,  sacred  equally 
to  the  faith  of  Christian  and  of  Jew.    The  young  Quexada 
did  not  long  survive  his  return  •,  his  constitution  was  broken 
by  long  travel ,  and  the  debility  that  followed  his  fierce 
disease.    On  his  death-bed  he  had  besought  the  mother 
w^hom  he  left  childless ,  and  whose  Catholic  prejudices 
were  less  stubborn  than  those  of  his  sire ,  never  to  forget 
the  services  a  Jew  had  conferred  upon  him  •,  to  make  the 
sole  recompense  in  her  power  —  the  sole  recompense  the 
Jew  himself  had  demanded  —  and  to  lose  no  occasion  to 
soothe  or  mitigate  the  miseries  to  which  the  bigotry  of  the 
time  often  exposed  the  oppressed  race  of  his  deliverer. 
Donna  Inez  had  faithfully  kept  the  promise  she  gave  to 
the  last  scion  of  her  house  ^  and  ,  through  the  power  and 
reputation  of  her  husband  and  her  own  connexions ,  and 
still  more  through  an  early  friendship  with  the  queen  ,  she 
had ,  on  her  return  to  Spain ,  been  enabled  to  ward  off 
many  a  persecution,  and  many  a  charge  on  false  pretences , 
to  which  the  wealth  of  some  son  of  Israel  made  the  cause , 
while  his  faith  made  the  pretext.    Yet^  witii  all  the  natural 
feeUngs  of  a  rigid  Catholic ,  she  had  earnestly  sought  to 
render  the  favour  she  had  thus  obtained  amongst  the  Jews 
minister  to  her  pious  zeal  for  their  more  than  temporal 
welfare.    She  had  endeavoured,  by  gentle  means,  to  make 
the  conversions  which  force  was  impotent  to  effect ;  and  , 
in  some  instances ,  her  success  had  been  signal.    The  good 

7 


9S  LEILA  , 

senora  had  thus  obtained  high  renown  for  sanctity  ^  and 
Isabel  thought  rightly,  that  she  could  not  select  a  protec- 
tress for  Leila,  who  would  more  kindly  shelter  her  youth  , 
or  more  strenuously  labour  for  her  salvation.  It  was  in- 
deed a  dangerous  situation  for  the  adherence  of  the  maiden 
to  that  faith  which  it  had  cost  her  fiery  father  so  many  sa- 
crifices to  preserve  and  to  advance. 

It  was  by  little  and  little  that  Donna  Inez  sought,  rather 
to  undermine,  than  to  storm  the  mental  fortress,  she  hoped 
to  man  with  spiritual  allies  \  and  ,  in  her  frequent  conver- 
sations with  Leila,  she  was  at  once  perplexed  and  astonished 
by  the  simple  and  sublime  nature  of  the  belief  upon  which 
she  waged  war.  For,  whether  it  was  that,  in  his  desire  to 
preserve  Leila  as  much  as  possible  from  contact  even  with 
Jews  themselves,  whose  general  character  (vitiated  by  the 
oppression  which  engendered  meanness,  and  the  extortion 
which  fostered  avarice)  Almamen  regarded  with  lofty  though 
concealed  repugnance  ^  or  whether  it  was ,  that  his  philosophy 
did  not  interpret  the  Jewish  formula  of  behef  in  the  same 
spirit  as  the  herd  ,  —  the  religion  inculcated  in  the  breast 
of  Leila  was  different  from  that  which  Inez  had  ever  before 
encountered  amongst  her  proselytes.  It  was  less  mundane 
and  material— a  kind  of  passionate  rather  than  metaphysical 
deism ,  which  invested  the  great  One  ,  indeed  ,  with  many 
human  sympathies  and  attributes,  but  still  left  him  the 
august  and  awful  God  of  the  Genesis ,  the  Father  of  a 
Universe .  though  the  individual  Protector  of  a  petty  and 
fallen  sect.  Her  attention  had  been  less  directed  to  whatever 
appears ,  to  a  superficial  gaze ,  stern  and  inexorable  in  the 
character  of  the  Hebrew  God ,  and  which  the  religion  of 
Christ  so  beautifully  softened  and  so  majestically  refined , 
than  to  those  passages  in  which  His  love  watched  over  a 
chosen  people  ,  and  His  forbearance  bore  with  their  trans- 
gressions. Her  reason  had  been  worked  upon  to  its  belief 
by  that  mysterious  and  solemn  agency,  by  which,  —  when 
the  whole  world  beside  was  bowed  to  the  worship  of  in- 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  99 

numerable  deities ,  and  the  adoration  of  graven  images, — 
in  a  small  and  secluded  portion  of  earth ,  amongst  a  people 
far  less  civilised  and  philosophical  than  many  by  which  they 
were  surrounded ,  had  been  alone  preserved  a  pure  and 
sublime  theism,  disdaining  a  likeness  in  the  things  of  heaven 
or  earth.  Leila  knew  little  of  the  more  narrow  and  exclusive 
tenets  of  her  brethren  :  a  Jewess  in  name ,  she  was  rather 
a  deist  in  belief-,  a  deist  of  such  a  creed  as  Athenian  schools 
might  have  taught  to  the  imaginative  pupils  of  Plato ,  save 
only  that  too  dark  a  shadow  had  been  cast  over  the  hopes 
of  another  world.  Without  the  absolute  denial  of  the  Sad- 
ducee,  Almamen  had  ,  probably,  much  of  the  quiet  scep- 
ticism which  belonged  to  many  sects  of  the  early  Jews,  and 
which  still  clings  round  the  wisdom  of  the  wisest  who 
reject  the  doctrine  of  Revelation  ^  and ,  while  he  had  not 
sought  to  eradicate  from  the  breast  of  his  daughter  any  of 
the  vague  desire  which  points  to  a  Hereafter,  he  had  never, 
at  least ,  directed  her  thoughts  or  aspirations  to  that  solemn 
future.  Nor  in  the  sacred  book  which  was  given  to  her 
survey,  and  which  so  rigidly  upheld  the  unity  of  the 
Supreme  Power,. was  there  that  positive  and  unequivocal 
assurance  of  life  beyond  "  the  grave ,  where  all  things  are 
forgotten  ,"  that  might  supply  the  deficiencies  of  her  mortal 
instructor.  Perhaps,  sharing  those  notions  of  the  different 
value  of  the  sexes,  prevalent,  from  the  remotest  period ,  in 
his  beloved  and  ancestral  East ,  Almamen  might  have  hopes 
for  himself  which  did  not  extend  to  his  child.  And  thus  she 
grew  up,  with  all  the  beautiful  faculties  of  the  soul  cherished 
and  unfolded,  without  thought,  without  more  than  dim 
and  shadowy  conjectures  ,  of  the  Eternal  Bourne  to  which 
the  sorrowing  pilgrim  of  the  earth  is  bound.  It  was  on  this 
point  that  the  quick  eye  of  Donna  Inez  discovered  her  faith 
was  vulnerable  :  who  would  not ,  if  belief  were  voluntary, 
believe  in  the  world  to  come?  Leila's  curiosity  and  interest 
were  aroused  •,  she  willingly  listened  to  her  new  guide  — 
she  willingly  inclined  to  conclusions  pressed  upon  her,  not 


100  LEILA, 

with  menace,  but  persuasion.  Free  from  the  stubborn 
associations,  the  sectarian  prejudices,  and  unversed  in  the 
peculiar  traditions  and  accounts,  of  the  learned  of  her  race,. 
she  found  nothing  to  shock  her  in  the  volume  vfhich  seemed 
but  a  continuation  of  the  elder  writings  of  her  faith.  The 
sufferings  of  the  Messiah,  his  sublime  purity,  his  meek 
forgiveness,  spoke  to  her  woman's  heart;  his  doctrines 
elevated ,  while  they  charmed ,  her  reason  :  and  in  the 
heaven  that  a  Divine  hand  opened  to  all ,  —  the  humble 
as  the  proud ,  the  oppressed  as  the  oppressor,  to  the  woman 
as  to  the  lords  of  the  earth ,  —  she  found  a  haven  for  all  the 
doubts  she  had  known  ,  and  for  the  despair  which  of  late 
had  darkened  the  face  of  earth.  Her  home  lost ,  the  deep 
and  beautiful  love  of  her  youth  bhghted ,  — that  was  a 
creed  almost  irresistible  which  told  her  that  grief  was  but 
for  a  day,  that  happiness  was  eternal.  Far,  too,  from  revolt- 
ing such  of  the  Hebrew  pride  of  association  as  she  had 
formed ,  the  birth  of  the  Messiah  in  the  land  of  the  Israelites 
seemed  to  consummate  their  peculiar  triumph  as  the  Elected 
of  Jehovah.  And  while  she  mourned  for  the  Jews  who 
persecuted  the  Saviour,  she  gloried  in  those  whose  belief 
had  carried  the  nam.e  and  worship  of  the  descendants  of 
David  over  the  furthest  regions  of  the  world.  Often  she 
perplexed  and  startled  the  worthy  Inez  ,  by  exclaiming , 
"This ,  your  belief,  is  the  same  as  mine ,  adding  only  the 
assurance  of  immortal  life  —  Christianity  is  but  the  Reve- 
lation of  Judaism." 

The  wise  and  gentle  instrument  of  Leila's  conversion  did 
not ,  however,  give  vent  to  those  more  Catholic  sentiments 
which  might  have  scared  away  the  wings  of  the  descending 
dove.  She  forebore  too  vehemently  to  point  out  the  distinc^ 
tions  of  the  several  creeds ,  and  rather  suffered  them  to  melt 
insensibly  one  into  the  other  :  Leila  was  a  Christian ,  while 
she  still  believed  herself  a  Jewess.  But  in  the  fond  and  lovely 
weakness  of  mortal  emotions ,  there  was  one  bitter  thought 
that  often  and  often  came  to  mar  the  peace  that  otherwise 


OR    THF.    SU.GE    OF    GRANADA.  101 

^vould  have  settled  on  her  soul.  That  father ,  the  sole  sof- 
tener of  whose  stern  heart  and  mysterious  fate  she  was  ,  — 
with  what  pangs  would  he  receive  the  news  of  her  conver- 
sion!  And  Muza,  that  bright  and  hero-vision  of  her  youth 

—  was  she  not  setting  the  last  seal  of  separation  upon  all 
hope  of  union  with  the  idol  of  the  Moors?  Rut,  alas  I  was 
she  not  already  separated  from  him ,  and  had  not  their 
faiths  been  from  the  first  at  variance?  From  these  thoughts 
she  started  with  sighs  and  tears  ^  and  before  her  stood  the 
crucifix  already  admitted  into  her  chamber,  and  —  not, 
perhaps ,  too  wisely —banished  so  rigidly  from  the  oratories 
of  the  Hugeonot.  For  the  representation  of  that  Divine 
resignation  ,  that  mortal  agony ,  that  miraculous  sacrifice  f 

—  what  eloquence  it  hath  for  our  sorrows!  what  preaching 
hath  the  symbol  to  the  vanities  of  our  wishes  ,  to  the  yearn- 
ings of  our  discontent ! 

By  degrees ,  as  her  new  faith  grew  confirmed  ,  Leila  ndw 
inclined  herself  earnestly  to  those  pictures  of  the  sanctity 
and  calm  of  the  conventual  life  which  Inez  delighted  to  draw. 
In  the  reaction  of  her  thoughts,  and  her  despondency  of  all 
worldly  happiness,  there  seemed,  to  the  young  maiden,  an 
inexpressible  charm  in  a  soUtude  which  w^as  to  release  her , 
for  ever ,  from  human  love ,  and  render  her  entirely  up  to 
sacred  visions  and  imperishable  hopes.  And  with  this 
selfish ,  there  mingled  a  more  generous  and  sublime ,  sen- 
timent. The  prayers  of  a  convert  might  be  heard  in  favour 
of  those  yet  benighted;  and  the  awful  curse  upon  her  out- 
cast race  be  lightened  by  the  orisons  of  one  humble  heart. 
In  all  ages,  in  all  creeds,  a  strange  and  mystic  impression 
has  existed  of  the  eflicacy  of  self-sacrifice  in  working  the 
redemption  ,  even  of  a  whole  people  :  this  belief,  so  strong 
in  the  old  orient  and  classic  religions,  was  yet  more  con- 
firmed by  Christianity,  — a  creed  founded  upon  the  grand- 
est of  historic  sacrifices  •,  and  tlie  lofty  doctrine  of  which  , 
rightly  understood .  perpetuates  in  the  heart  of  every  be- 
liever the  dutv  of  self-immolation ,  as  well  as  faith  in  tlie 


102  LLILA, 

power  of  prayer,  no  matter  how  great  the  object,  how 
mean  the  supphcator.  On  these  thoughts  Leila  meditated , 
till  thoughts  acquired  the  intensity  of  passions,  and  the  con- 
version of  the  Jewess  was  completed. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE   HOUR    AND    THE   MA>'. 

It  was  on  the  third  morning  after  the  king  of  Granada , 
•reconciled  to  his  people,  had  reviewed  his  gallant  army  in 
the  Vivarrambla  \  and  Boabdil ,  surrounded  by  his  chiefs 
and  nobles ,  was  planning  a  deliberate  and  decisive  battle , 
by  assault  on  the  Christian  camp, — when  a  scout  sudden- 
ly arrived  ,  breathless ,  at  the  gates  of  the  palace  ,  to  com- 
municate the  unlooked-for  and  welcome  intelligence ,  that 
Ferdinand  had  in  the  night  broken  up  his  camp  ,  and 
marched  across  the  mountains  towards  Cordova.    In  fact , 
the  outbreak   of  formidable  conspiracies  had   suddenly 
rendered  the   appearance   of  Ferdinand  necessary  else- 
where \  and,  his  intrigues  with  Almamen  frustrated ,  he  de- 
spaired of  a  very  speedy  conquest  of  the  city.  The  Spanish 
king  resolved ,  therefore  ,  after  completing  the  devastation 
of  the  Vega ,  to  defer  the  formal  and  prolonged  siege,  which 
could  alone  place  Granada  within  his  power ,  until  his  at- 
tention was  no  longer  distracted  to  other  foes  ,  and  until , 
it  must  be  added ,  he  had  replenished  an  exhausted  treasury. 
He  had  formed,  with  Torquemada,  a  vast  and  wide  scheme 
of  persecution ,  not  only  against  Jews ,  but  against  Christ- 
ians whose  fathers  had  been  of  that  race ,  and  who  were 
suspected  of  relapsing  into  Judaical  practices.    The  two 
schemers  of  this  grand  design  were  actuated  by  different 
motives;  the  one  wished  to  extermiTiate  the  crime:  the 
other,  to  sell  forgiveness  for  it.  And  Torquemada  connived 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GKA>ADA.  103 

at  the  griping  avarice  of  the  king ,  because  it  served  to  give 
to  himself,  and  to  the  infant  Inquisition,  a  power  and  au- 
thority which  the  Dominican  foresaw  would  be  soon  greater 
even  than  those  of  royalty  itseK^  and  which ,  he  imagined, 
by  scourging  earth ,  would  redound  to  the  interests  of 
Heaven. 

The  strange  disappearance  of  Almamen ,  which  was  dis- 
torted and  exaggerated  ,  by  the  credulity  of  the  Spaniards, 
into  an  event  of  the  most  terrific  character ,  served  to  com- 
plete the  chain  of  evidence  against  the  wealthy  Jews ,  and 
Jew-descended  Spaniards,  of  Andalusia^  and  while,  in 
imagination ,  the  king  already  clutched  the  gold  of  their  re- 
demption here ,  the  Dominican  kindled  the  flame  that  was 
to  light  them  to  punishment  hereafter. 

Boabdil  and  his  chiefs  received  the  intelligence  of  the 
Spanish  retreat  with  a  doubt  which  soon  yielded  to  the 
most  triumphant  delight.  Boabdil  at  once  resumed  all  the 
energy  for  which  ,  though  but  by  fits  and  starts ,  his  earlier 
youth  had  been  remarkable. 

"  Allah  Akbar  I  God  is  great  I "  cried  he ,  —  "  we  will 
not  remain  here  till  it  suit  the  foe  to  confine  the  eagle  again 
to  his  eyrie.  They  have  left  us  —  we  will  burst  on  them. 
Summon  our  alfaquis ,  we  will  proclaim  a  holy  war  I  The 
sovereign  of  the  last  possessions  of  the  iMoors  is  in  the 
field.  Not  a  town  that  contains  a  Moslem  but  shall  receive 
our  summons ,  and  we  will  gather  round  our  standard  all 
the  children  of  our  faith! " 

"  May  the  king  live  for  ever !  "  cried  the  council ,  with 
one  voice. 

"  Lose  not  a  moment ,"  resumed  Boabdil,  —  "  on  to  the 
Vivarrambla,  marshal  the  troops  — Muza  heads  the  cavalry, 
myself  our  foot.  Ere  the  sun's  shadow  reach  yonder  forest , 
our  army  shall  be  on  its  march." 

The  warriors ,  hastily  and  in  joy,  left  the  palace  •,  and , 
when  he  was  alone,  Boabdil  again  relapsed  into  his  wonted 
irresolution.    After  striding  to  and  fro  for  some  minutes  iu 


104  LEILA  , 

anxious  thought ,  he  abruptly  quitted  the  h.all  of  council , 
and  passed  into  the  more  private  chambers  of  the  palace  , 
till  he  came  to  a  door  strongly  guarded  liy  plates  of  iron. 
It  yielded  easily,  however,  to  a  small  key  which  he  carried 
in  his  girdle  ^  and  Boabdil  stood  in  a  small  circular  room , 
apparently  without  other  door  or  outlet :  but ,  after  looking 
cautiously  round ,  the  king  touched  a  secret  spring  in  the 
wall ,  which ,  giving  way,  discovered  a  niche ,  in  which 
stood  a  small  lamp ,  burning  with  the  purest  naphtha , 
and  a  scroll  of  yellow  parchment  covered  with  strange 
letters  and  hieroglyphics.    He  thrust  the  scroll  in  his  bosom , 
took  the  lamp  in  his  hand ,  and  pressing  another  spring 
within  the  niche ,  the  wall  receded  and  shewed  a  narrow 
and  winding  staircase.   The  king  reclosed  the  entrance, 
and  descended:  the  stairs  led,  at  last,  into  damp  and 
rough  passages  5  and  the  murmur  of  waters  ,  that  reached 
his  ear  through  the  thick  walls,  indicated  the  subter- 
ranean   nature   of    the   soil   through   which  they   were 
hewn.   The  lamp  burned  clear  and  steady  through  the 
darkness  of  the  place  ^  and  Boabdil  proceeded  with  such 
impatient  rapidity,  that  the  distance  (in  reality,  consider- 
able )  which  he  traversed ,  before  he  arrived  at  his  destined 
bourne,  was  quickly  measured.    He  came,  at  last,  into  a 
wide  cavern ,  guarded  by  doors  concealed  and  secret  as 
those  which  had  screened  the  entrance  from  the  upper  air. 
He  was  in  one  of  the  many  vaults  which  made  the  mighty 
cemetery  of  the  monarchs  of  Granada  5  and  before  him 
stood  the  robed  and  crowned  skeleton,  and  before  him 
glowed  the  magic  dial-plate ,  of  which  he  had  spoken  in 
his  interview  with  Muza. 

"  Oh  ,  dread  and  awful  image  I  "  cried  the  king ,  throw- 
ing himself  on  his  knees  before  the  skeleton  ;  "  shadow  of 
what  was  once  a  king ,  wise  in  council ,  and  terrible  in 
war  ^  if  in  those  hollow  bones  yet  lurks  the  impalpable  and 
unseen  spirit,  hear  thy  repentant  son.  Forgive  ,  while  it  is 
yet  time  ,  the  rebellion  of  his  fiery  youth  ,  and  suffer  thy 


OR    THE    SIEGF.    OF    GRAN  AD  A.  10.% 

daring  soul  to  animate  the  doubt  and  weakness  of  his  own. 
I  go  forth  to  battle,  waiting  not  the  signal  thou  didst  ordain. 
Let  not  the  penance  for  a  rashness  ,  to  which  fate 
urges  me  on ,  attach  to  my  country ,  but  to  me.  And  if  I 
perish  in  the  field,  may  my  evil  destinies  be  buried  with  me, 
and  a  worthier  monarch  redeem  my  errors ,  and  preserve 
Granada  I  '" 

As  the  king  raised  his  looks ,  the  unrelaxed  grin  of  the 
grim  dead,  made  yet  more  hideous  by  the  mockery  of  the 
diadem  and  the  royal  robe,  froze  back  to  ice  the  passion 
and  sorrow  at  his  heart.  He  shuddered  ,  and  rose  with  a 
deep  sigh  ,  when ,  as  his  eyes  mechanically  followed  the 
lifted  arm  of  the  skeleton,  he  beheld,  ^yith  mingled  delight 
and  awe ,  the  hitherto  motionless  tlnger  of  the  dial-plate 
pass  slowly  on,  and  rest  at  the  w^ord  so  long  and  so  impa- 
tiently desired.  "  Arm  I  "  cried  the  king,  —  "  do  I  read 
aright?  are  my  prayers  heard?"  A  low  and  deep  sound, 
like  that  of  subterranean  thunder ,  boomed  through  the 
chamber  ;  and  in  the  same  instant  the  wall  opened  ,  and  the 
king  beheld  the  long-expected  figure  of  Almamen,  the  ma- 
gician. But  no  longer  was  that  stately  form  clad  in  the 
loose  and  peaceful  garb  of  the  eastern  santon.  Complete 
armour  cased  his  broad  breast  and  sinewy  hmbs^  his 
head  alone  was  bare  ,  and  his  prominent  and  impressive 
features  were  lighted,  not  with  mystical  enthusiasm,  but 
with  warhke  energy.  In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  drawn 
sword  —  his  left  supported  the  staff  of  a  snow-white  and 
dazzling  banner. 

So  sudden  was  the  apparition  ,  and  so  excited  the 
mind  of  the  king  ,  that  the  sight  of  a  supernatural  being 
could  scarcely  have  impressed  him  with  more  amaze  and 
awe. 

''King  of  Granada,"  said  Almamen ,  "the  hour  hath 
come  at  last  :  go  forth  and  conquer  I  With  the  Christian 
monarch  there  is  no  hope  of  peace  or  compact.  At  thy 
request  I  sought  him,  but  my  spells  alone  preserved  the  life 


106  LEILA  , 

of  thy  herald.  Rejoice  I  for  thine  evil  destinies  have  rolled 
away  from  thy  spirit,  like  a  cloud  from  the  glory  of  the  sun. 
The  genii  of  the  East  have  woven  this  banner  from  the 
rays  of  benignant  stars.  It  shall  beam  before  thee  in 
the  front  of  battle  —  it  shall  rise  over  the  rivers  of  Christ- 
ian blood.  As  the  moon  sways  the  bosom  of  the  tides  , 
it  shall  sway  and  direct  the  surges  and  the  course  of 
war  I  " 
"  Man  of  mystery  !  thou  hast  given  me  a  new  life. " 
"  And ,  fighting  by  thy  side, "  resumed  Almamen ,  "  1 
will  assist  to  carve  out  for  thee ,  from  the  ruins  of  Arragon 
and  Castile ,  the  grandeur  of  a  new  throne.  Arm,  monarch 
of  Granada  I  —  arm  !  I  hear  the  neigh  of  thy  charger,  in  the 
midst  of  the  mailed  thousands !  Arm  !  " 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GrxAISADA.  10' 


BOOK   IV. 


CHAPTER  I. 


LEILA   IN    THE   CASTLE.  —  THE  SIEGE. 


The  calmer  contemplations ,  and  more  holy  anxieties  of 
Leila ,  were ,  at  length ,  broken  in  upon  by  intelligence ,  the 
fearful  interest  of  which  absorbed  the  whole  mind  and  care 
of  every  inhabitant  of  the  castle.  Boabdil  el  Chico  had 
taken  the  field ,  at  the  head  of  a  numerous  army.  Rapidly 
scouring  the  country,  he  had  descended,  one  after  one, 
upon 'the  principal  fortresses  which  Ferdinand  had  left, 
strongly  garrisoned ,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood.  His 
success  was  as  immediate  as  it  was  signal  ^  the  terror  of  his 
arms  began ,  once  more ,  to  spread  far  and  wide  5  every  day 
swelled  his  ranks  with  new  recruits  ^  from  the  snow-clad 
summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  poured  down,  in  wild  hordes, 
the  fierce  mountain  race,  who,  accustomed  to  eternal  winter, 
made  a  strange  contrast ,  in  their  rugged  appearance  and 
shaggy  clothing ,  to  the  ghttering  and  civilised  soldiery  of 
Granada. 

Moorish  towns,  which  had  submitted  to  Ferdinand, 
broke  from  their  allegiance,  and  sent  their  ardent  youth 
and  experienced  veterans  to  the  standard  of  the  Keys  and 
Crescent.  To  add  to  the  sudden  panic  of  the  Spaniards ,  it 
went  forth  that  a  formidable  magician,  who  seemed  inspired 
rather  with  the  fury  of  a  demon  than  the  valour  of  a  man , 
liad  made  an  abrupt  appearance  in  the  ranks  of  tlie  Moslems. 
Wherever  the  Moors  shrunk  back  from  wall  or  tower,  down 
which  poured  the  boiling  pitch,  or  rolled  the  deadly  artillerv 


108  LEILA, 

oi"  Uie  besieged,  this  sorcerer  —  rushing  into  the  midst  of 
the  flagging  force,  and  waving,  with  wild  gestures,  a  white 
banner,  supposed,  by  both  Moor  and  Christian  ,  to  be  the 
work  of  magic  and  preternatural  spells — dared  every  danger, 
and  escaped  every  weapon  :  with  voice ,  with  prayer,  with 
example ,  he  fired  the  Moors  to  an  enthusiasm  that  revived 
the  first  days  of  Mahometan  conquest^  and  tow^r  after 
tower,  along  the  mighty  range  of  the  mountain  chain  of  for- 
tresses, was  polluted  by  the  wave  and  glitter  of  the  ever 
victorious  banner.  The  veteran,  Mendo  de  Quexada,  who, 
with  a  garrison  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  held  the 
castle  of  Alhendin  ,  was ,  however,  undaunted  by  the  un- 
precedented successes  of  Boabdil.  Aware  of  the  approach- 
ing storm ,  he  spent  the  days  of  peace  yet  accorded  to  him  , 
in  making  every  preparation  for  the  siege  that  he  foresaw : 
messengers  were  despatched  to  Ferdinand  •,  new  out-works 
were  added  to  the  castle  ^  ample  store  of  provision  laid  in  ^ 
and  no  precaution  omitted  that  could  still  preserve  to  the 
Spaniards  a  fortress ,  that ,  from  its  vicinity  to  Granada ,  its 
command  of  the  \  ega  and  the  valleys  of  the  Alpuxarras , 
was  the  bitterest  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  Moorish  power. 

It  was  early,  one  morning,  that  Leila  stood  by  the  lattice 
of  her  lofty  chamber,  gazing ,  with  many  and  mingled  emo- 
tions ,  on  the  distant  domes  of  Granada ,  as  they  slept  in 
the  silent  sunshine.  Her  heart ,  for  the  moment ,  was  busy 
with  the  thoughts  of  home ,  and  the  chances  and  peril  of 
the  time  were  forgotten. 

The  sound  of  martial  music,  afar  off,  broke  upon  her 
reveries ;  she  started,  and  listened  breathlessly  :  it  became 
more  distinct  and  clear.  The  clash  of  the  zell,  the  boom  of 
the  African  drum  ,  and  the  wild  and  barbarous  blast  of  the 
Moorish  clarion ,  were  now  each  distinguishable  from  the 
other  ^  and ,  at  length ,  as  she  gazed  and  listened  ,  winding 
along  the  steeps  of  the  mountain  were  seen  the  gleaming 
spears  and  pennants  of  the  Moslem  vanguard.  Another 
moment ,  and  the  whole  castle  was  astir. 


OR    THE    Sir.GE    OF    GRANADA.  lOO 

^Mendo  do  Quexada ,  hastily  arming,  repaired,  himself, 
to  the  battlements ;  and ,  from  her  lattice ,  Leila  beheld  him , 
from  time  to  time,  stationing  to  the  best  advantage  his  scanty 
troops.  In  a  few  minutes  she  \Yas  joined  by  Donna  Inez  and 
the  women  of  the  castle ,  who  fearfully  clustered  round  their 
mistress, — not  the  less  disposed,  Ifbwever,  to  gratify  the 
passion  of  the  sex ,  by  a  glimpse  through  the  lattice  at  the 
gorgeous  array  of  the  Moorish  army. 

The  casements  of  Leila's  chamber  were  peculiarly  adapt- 
ed to  command  a  safe  nor  insufficient  view  of  the  progress 
of  the  enemy  •  and-,  with  a  beating  heart  and  flushing  cheek, 
the  Jewish  maiden ,  deaf  to  the  voices  around  her,  imagined 
she  could  already  descry,  amidst  the  horsemen,  the  lion 
port  and  snowy  garments  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan. 

What  a  situation  was  hers  I  Already  a  Christian ,  could 
she  hope  for  the  success  of  the  infidel?  ever  a  woman ,  could 
she  hope  for  the  defeat  of  her  lover?  But  the  tim.e  for  me- 
ditation on  her  destiny  was  but  brief  ^  the  detachment  of  the 
Moorish  cavalry  was  now  just  without  the  walls  of  the  little 
town  that  girded  the  castle ,  and  the  loud  clarion  of  the 
heralds  summoned  the  garrison  to  surrender. 

*'  Not  wiiile  one  stone  stands  upon  another ! "  was  the 
short  answer  of  Quexada  ;  and ,  in  ten  minutes  afterwards , 
the  sullen  roar  of  the  artillery  broke  from  wall  and  tower 
over  the  vales  below. 

It  was  then  that  the  women ,  from  Leila's  lattice ,  beheld , 
slowly  marshalling  themselves  in  order,  the  whole  power 
and  pageantry  of  the  besieging  army.  Thick  —  serried  — 
line  after  line,  column  upon  column  —  they  spread  below  the 
frowning  steep.  The  sunbeams  lighted  up  that  goodly  array, 
as  it  sw^ayed ,  and  murmured ,  and  advanced ,  like  the  billows 
of  a  glittering  sea.  The  royal  standard  was  soon  descried 
waving  above  the  pavilion  of  Boabdil  •,  and  the  king  himself, 
mounted  on  his  cream-coloured  charger,  which  was  covered 
with  trappings  of  cloth-of-gold ,  was  recognised  amongst 
the  infantry,  whose  (ask  it  was  to  lead  the  assault. 


110  LEILA, 

"  Pray  with  os ,  my  daughter ! "  cried  Inez  ,  falling  on 
her  knees.  —  Alas!  what  could  Leila  pray  for? 

Four  days  and  four  nights  passed  away  in  that  memor- 
able siege ;  for  the  moon ,  then  at  her  full ,  allowed  no 
respite,  even  in  night  itself.  Their  numbers,  and  their 
vicinity  to  Granada ,  ^ave  the  besiegers  the  advantage  of 
constant  relays ,  and  troop  succeeded  to  troop ;  so  that  the 
weary  had  ever  successors  in  the  vigour  of  new  assail- 
ants. 

On  the  fifth  day,  all  of  the  town  —  all  of  the  fortress ,  save 
the  keep  (an  immense  tower),  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Mos- 
lems •,  and  in  this  last  hold ,  the  worn-out  and  scanty  rem- 
nant of  the  garrison  mustered ,  in  the  last  hope  of  a  brave 
despair. 

Quexada  appeared ,  covered  with  gore  and  dust  —  his 
eyes  bloodshot ,  his  cheek  haggard  and  hollow,  his  locks 
blanched  with  sudden  age  —  in  the  hall  of  the  tower,  where 
the  women ,  half  dead  with  terror,  were  assembled. 

*'  Food  I "  cried  he ,— "  food  and  wine  I  —  it  may  be  our 
last  banquet." 

His  wife  threw  her  arms  round  him.  *'Not  yet,"  he 
cried,  "not  yet^  we  will  have  one  embrace  before  we 
part." 

"  Is  there ,  then ,  no  hope? "  said  Inez ,  with  a  pale  cheek, 
yet  steady  eye. 

"  None  •,  unless  to-morrow's  dawn  gild  the  spears  of  Fer- 
dinand's army  upon  yonder  hills.  Till  morn  we  may  hold 
out."  As  he  spoke ,  he  hastily  devoured  some  morsels  of 
food ,  drained  a  huge  goblet  of  wine ,  and  abruptly  quitted 
the  chamber. 

At  that  moment ,  the  women  distinctly  heard  the  loud 
shout  of  the  Moors ;  and  Leila ,  approaching  the  grated 
casement,  could  perceive  the  approach  of  what  seemed  to 
her  like  moving  walls. 

Covered  by  ingenious  constructions  of  wood  and  thick 
hides ,  the  besiegers  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  tower  in 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  Ill 

comparative  shelter  from  the  burning  streams  which  still 
poured ,  fast  and  seething ,  from  the  battlements ;  while ,  in 
the  rear,  came  showers  of  darts  and  cross-bolts  from  the 
more  distant  Moors ,  protecting  the  work  of  the  engineers , 
and  piercing  through  almost  every  loophole  and  crevice  in 
the  fortress. 

Meanwhile ,  the  stalwart  governor  beheld ,  with  dismay 
and  despair,  the  preparations  of  the  engineers ,  whom  the 
wooden  screen-works  protected  from  every  weapon. 

"  By  the  holy  sepulchre  I "  cried  he ,  gnashing  his  teeth , 
"  they  are  mining  the  tower,  and  we  shall  be  buried  in  its 
ruins  I  Look  out ,  Gonsalvo !  see  you  not  a  gleam  of  spears, 
yonder,  over  the  mountains?  Mine  eyes  are  dim  with 
watching.'' 

"Alas :  brave  Mendo  ,  it  is  only  the  sloping  sun  upon  the 
snows  —  but  there  is  hope  yet." 

The  soldier's  words  terminated  in  a  shrill  and  sudden  cry 
of  agony,  and  he  fell  dead  by  the  side  of  Quexada,  the 
brain  crushed  by  a  bolt  from  a  Moorish  arquebuss. 

*'MybestwarriorI'"said  Quexada^  "peace  be  with  him  I 
Ho,  there!  see  you  yon  desperate  infidel  urging  on  the 
miners?  By  the  heavens  above ,  it  is  he  of  the  white  banner  I 
—  it  is  the  sorcerer  I  Fire  on  him  I  he  is  without  the  shelter 
of  the  wood-works." 

Twenty  shafts ,  from  wearied  and  nerveless  arms ,  fell 
innocuous  round  the  form  of  Almamen  :  and  as,  waving 
aloft  his  ominous  banner,  he  disappeared  again  behind  the 
screen-works ,  the  Spaniards  almost  fancied  they  could  bear 
his  exulting  and  demon  laugh. 

The  sixth  day  came ,  and  the  work  of  the  enemy  was 
completed.  The  tower  was  entirely  undermined  —  the 
foundations  rested  only  upon  wooden  props ,  which ,  with 
a  humanity  that  was  characteristic  of  Boabdil ,  had  been 
placed  there  in  order  that  the  besieged  might  escape  ere  the 
final  crash  of  their  last  hold. 

It  was  now  noon  :  the  whole  Moorish  force,  quitting 


112  LEILA  , 

the  plain ,  occupied  the  steep  that  spread  helow  the  tower, 
m  multitudinous  array  nnd  breathless  expectation.  The 
miners  stood  aloof  —  the  Spaniards  lay  prostrate  and 
exhausted  upon  the  battlements ,  like  mariners,  who,  after 
every  effort  against  the  storm  ,  await ,  resigned  and  almost 
indifferent,  the  sweep  of  the  fatal  surge. 

Suddenly  the  lines  of  the  Moors  gave  way-  and  Boabdil 
himself,  with  Muza  at  his  right  hand ,  and  Almamen  on  his 
left ,  advanced  towards  the  foot  of  the  tower.  At  the  same 
time ,  the  Ethiopian  guards ,  each  bearing  a  torch ,  marched 
slowly  in  the  rear  ^  and  from  the  midst  of  them  paced  the 
royal  herald  ,  and  sounded  the  last  warning.  The  hush  of 
the  immense  armament  — the  glare  of  the  torches ,  lighting 
the  ebon  faces  and  giant  forms  of  their  bearers  —  the  ma- 
jestic appearance  of  the  king  himself  —  the  heroic  aspect  of 
Muza  —  the  bare  head  and  glittering  banner  of  Almamen 
—  ail  com.bined  with  the  circumstances  of  the  time  to  invest 
the  spectacle  with  something  singularly  awful,  and,  per- 
haps ,  sublime. 

Quexada  turned  his  eyes ,  mutely,  round  the  ghastly  faces 
of  his  warriors ,  and  still  made  not  the  signal.  His  lips  mut- 
tered—  his  eyes  glared  :  when ,  suddenly,  he  heard  below 
the  wail  of  women  ;  and  the  thought  of  Inez  ,  the  bride  of 
his  youth  ,  the  partner  of  his  age  ,  came  upon  him ,  and , 
with  a  trembling  hand ,  he  lowered  the  yet  unquailing  stan- 
dard of  Spain.  Then ,  the  silence  below  broke  into  a  mighty 
shout ,  which  shook  the  grim  tower  to  its  unsteady  and 
temporary  base. 

"  Arise  ,  my  friends,"  he  said  ,  with  a  bitter  sigh :  "  we 
have  fought  like  men  —  and  our  country  will  not  blush  for 
us." 

He  descended  the  winding  stairs  —  his  soldiers  followed 
him  with  faltering  steps  :  the  gates  of  the  keep  unfolded , 
and  these  gallant  Christians  surrendered  themselves  to  the 
Moor. 

"  Do  with  us  as  you  will ,"  said  Quexada ,  as  he  laid  the 


OFx    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA>AD\.  113 

keys  at  the  hoofs  of  Boabdil's  barb ;  "  but ,  there  are  woraen 
in  the  garrison ,  who " 

"Are  sacred,"  interrupted  the  king.  "  At  once  we  ac- 
cord their  liberty ,  and  free  transport  whithersoever  ye 
would  desire.  Speak ,  then  I  To  what  place  of  safety  shall 
they  be  conducted?" 

"  Generous  king  I"  replied  the  veteran  Quexada ,  brush- 
ing away  his  tears  with  the  back  of  his  hand  \  "you  take  the 
sting  from  our  shame.  AVe  accept  your  offer  ,  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  is  made.  Across  the  mountains ,  on  the 
verge  of  the  plain  of  Olfadez  ,  I  possess  a  small  castle  ,  un- 
garrisoned  and  unfortified.  Thence,  should  the  war  take 
that  direction,  the  women  can  readily  obtain  safe  conduct 
to  the  queen  ,  at  Cordova." 

"  Be  it  so,"  returned  BoabdiL  Then,  with  oriental 
delicacy ,  selecting  the  eldest  of  the  officers  round  him , 
he  gave  him  instructions  to  enter  the  castle,  and,  with 
a  strong  guard,  provide  for  the  safety  of  the  women, 
according  to  the  directions  of  Quexada.  To  another  of 
his  officers  he  confided  the  Spanish  prisoners ,  and  gave 
the  signal  to  his  army  to  withdraw  from  the  spot ,  leav- 
ing only  a  small  body  to  complete  the  ruin  of  the  for- 
tress. 

Accompanied  by  Almamen  and  his  principal  officers , 
Boabdil  now  hastened  towards  Granada  •,  and  while ,  with 
slower  progress,  Quexada  and  his  companions,  under  a 
strong  escort ,  took  their  way  across  the  Vega ,  a  sudden 
turn  in  their  course  brought  abruptly  before  them  the  tower 
they  had  so  valiantly  defended.  There  it  still  stood ,  proud 
and  stern  ,  amidst  the  blackened  and  broken  wrecks  around 
it,  shooting  aloft,  dark  and  grim ,  against  the  sky.  Another 
moment ,  and  a  mighty  crash  sounded  on  their  ears ;  while 
the  tower  fell  to  the  earth ,  amidst  volumes  of  wreathing 
smoke  and  showers  of  dust ,  which  were  borne ,  by  the 
concussion  ,  to  the  spot  on  which  they  took  their  last  gaze 
of  the  proudest  fortress  on  which  the  Moors  of  Granada 

8 


1H  LEILA, 

had  beheld ,  from  their  own  wails  ,  the  standard  of  Aria- 
gon  and  Castile. 

At  the  same  time  ,  Leila ,  —  thus  brought  so  strangely 
within  the  very  reach  of  her  father  and  her  lover,  and  yet , 
by  a  mysterious  fate,  still  divided  from  both,  —  with 
Donna  Inez  ,  and  the  rest  of  the  females  of  the  garrison , 
pursued  her  melancholy  path  along  the  ridges  of  the  moun- 
tains. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ALMAMEN'S  proposed  enterprise.  —  THE  THREE   ISRAELITES.  —  CIRCUMSTAXCF 
niPRESSES  EACH  CHARACTER  WITH    A  VARYING  DIE. 

BoABDiL  followed  up  his  late  success  with  a  series  of 
brilliant  assaults  on  the  neighbouring  fortresses.  Granada , 
like  a  strong  man  bowed  to  the  ground ,  wrenched ,  one 
after  one ,  the  bands  that  had  crippled  her  liberty  and 
strength;  and,  at  length,  after  regaining  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  surrounding  territory  ,  the  king  resolved  to 
lay  siege  to  the  sea-port  of  Salobrena.  Could  he  obtain 
this  town ,  Boabdil ,  by  establishing  communication  be- 
tween the  sea  and  Granada,  would  both  be  enabled  to  avail 
himself  of  the  assistance  of  his  African  allies ,  and  also 
prevent  the  Spaniards  from  cutting  off  supplies  to  the  city , 
should  they  again  besiege  it.  Thither ,  then ,  accompanied 
by  Muza ,  the  Moorish  king  bore  his  victorious  standard. 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure ,  Almamen  sought  the  king's 
presence.  A  great  change  had  come  over  the  santon  since 
the  departure  of  Ferdinand  :  his  wonted  stateliness  of  mien 
was  gone  ^  his  eyes  were  sunk  and  hollow ;  his  manner ,  dis- 
turbed and  absent.  In  fact ,  his  love  for  his  daughter  made 
the  sole  softness  of  his  character;  and  that  daughter  was 
in  the.  hands  of  the  king  who  had  sentenced  the  father  to 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  115 

the  tortures  of  the  Inquisition  I  To  what  dangers  might 
she  not  be  subjected ,  by  the  intolerant  zeal  of  conversion  I 
and  could  that  frame ,  and  gentle  heart ,  brave  the  terrific 
engines  that  might  be  brought  against  her  fears  ?  ' '  Better," 
thought  he,  "that  she  should  perish,  even  by  the  torture  , 
than  adopt  that  hated  faith."  He  gnashed  his  teeth  in 
agony  at  either  alternative.  His  dreams  ,  his  objects ,  his 
revenge  ,  his  ambition  —  all  forsook  him  :  one  single  hope  , 
one  thought ,  completely  mastered  his  stormy  passions' and 
fitful  intellect. 

In  this  mood  the  pretended  santon  met  Boabdil.  He  re- 
presented to  the  king ,  over  whom  his  influence  had  prodi- 
giously increased  since  the  late  victories  of  the  Moors ,  the 
necessity  of  employing  the  armies  of  Ferdinand  at  a  di- 
stance. He  proposed ,  in  furtherance  of  this  policy ,  to 
venture  himself  in  Cordova  j  to  endeavour  secretly  to  stir 
up  those  Moors  in  that ,  their  ancient ,  kingdom  ,  who  had 
succumbed  to  the  Spanish  yoke ,  and  whose  hopes  might 
naturally  be  inflamed  by  the  recent  successes  of  Boabdil ; 
and ,  at  least ,  to  foment  such  disturbances  as  might  aff'ord 
the  king  sufTicient  time  to  complete  his  designs ,  and  re- 
cruit his  force  by  aid  of  th^  powers  with  which  he  was  in 
league. 

The  representations  of  Almamen  at  length  conquered 
Boabdirs  reluctance  to  part  with  his  sacred  guide ;  and  it 
was  finally  arranged  that  the  Israelite  should  at  once  depart 
from  the  city. 

As  Almamen  pursued  homeward  his  sofitary  way,  he 
found  himself  suddenly  accosted  in  the  Hebrew  tongue. 
He  turned  hastily  ,  and  saw  before  him  an  old  man  in  the 
Jewish  gown  :  he  recognised  Elias  ,  one  of  the  wealthiest 
and  most  eminent  of  the  race  of  Israel. 

"  Pardon  me  ,  wise  countryman  I"  said  the  Jew,  bow- 
ing to  the  earth,  *' but  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of 
claiming  kindred  with  one,  through  whom  the  horn  of 
Israel  may  be  so  triumphantly  exalted.' 


116  LEILA, 

"  Hush,  man!"  said  Almamen  quickly,  and  looking 
sharply  round;  "  I  thy  countryman!  Art  thou  not,  as 
thy  speech  betokens ,  an  Israelite?" 

"Yea ,"  returned  the  Jew,  "and  of  the  same  tribe  as  thy 
honoured  father  —  peace  be  with  his  ashes !  I  remembered 
thee  at  once  ,  boy  though  thou  wert  when  thy  steps  shook 
off  the  dust  against  Granada.  I  remembered  thee,  I  say  , 
at  once  ,  on  thy  return ;  but  I  have  kept  thy  secret ,  trust- 
ing that ,  through  thy  soul  and  genius ,  thy  fallen  brethren 
might  put  off  sackcloth,  and  feast  upon  the  housetops." 

Almamen  looked  hard  at  the  keen,  sharp,  Arab  features 
of  the  Jew  ^  and ,  at  length  ,  he  answered ,  "  And  how  can 
Israel  be  restored?  wilt  thou  fight  for  her?" 

"  I  am  too  old  ,  son  of  Issachar,  to  bear  arms ;  but  our 
tribes  are  many,  and  our  youth  strong.  Amid  these  disturb- 
ances between  dog  and  dog " 

"The  lion  may  get  his  own,"  interrupted  Almamen, 
impetuously,— "let  us  hope  it.  Hast  thou  heard  of  the 
new  persecutions  against  us ,  that  the  false  Nazarene  king 
has  already  commenced  in  Cordova— persecutions  that 
make  the  heart  sick  and  the  blood  cold?" 

"Alas  I"  rephed  Elias  ,  "sucft  woes,  indeed,  have  not 
failed  to  reach  mine  ear  •,  and  I  have  kindred,  near  and 
beloved  kindred ,  wealthy  and  honoured  men ,  scattered 
throughout  that  land." 

Were  it  not  better  that  they  should  die  on  the  field  than 
by  the  rack? "  exclaimed  Almamen  ,  fiercely.  "  God  of  my 
fathers  I  if  there  be  yet  a  spark  of  manhood  left  amongst 
thy  people,  let  thy  servant  fan  it  to  a  flame,  that  shall  burn 
as  the  fire  burns  the  stubble ,  so  that  the  earth  may  be 
bare  before  the  blaze  I " 

"  Nay,"  said  Elias,  dismayed  rather  than  excited  by  the 
vehemence  of  his  comrade,— "be  not  rash,  son  of  Issa- 
char, be  not  rash  :  peradventure  thou  wilt  but  exasperate 
the  wrath  of  the  rulers ,  and  our  substance  thereby  will  be 
utterly  consumed." 


OR    THE    SIKGE   OF   feRANADA.  117 

Almamen  drew  back,  placed  his  hand  quietly  on  the 
Jew's  shoulder,  looked  him  hard  in  the  face,  and  ,  gently 
laughing ,  turned  away. 

Ellas  ^  did  not  attempt  to  arrest  his  steps.  "  Imprac- 
ticable," he  muttered:  "impracticable  and  dangerous  I  I 
always  thought  so.  He  may  do  us  harm  :  were  he  not  so 
strong  and  fierce,  I  would  put  my  knife  under  his  left  rib. 
Verily,  gold  is  a  great  thing  -,  and — out  on  me  I  the  knaves 
at  home  will  be  wasting  the  oil ,  now  they  know  old  Elias 
is  abroad."  Thereat  the  Jew  drew  his  cloak  round  him, 
and  quickened  his  pace. 

Almamen,  in  the  meanwhile,  sought,  through  dark 
and  subterranean  passages,  known  only  to  himself,  his 
accustomed  home.  He  passed  much  of  the  night  alone ; 
but,  ere  the  morning  star  announced  to  the  mountain-tops 
the  presence  of  the  sun,  he  stood ,  prepared  for  his  journey, 
in  his  secret  vault,  by  the  door  of  the  subterranean  pas- 
sages, with  old  Ximen  beside  him. 

"I  go,  Ximen,"  said  Almamen,  '^upon  a  doubtful 
quest :  whether  I  discover  my  daughter,  and  succeed  in 
bearing  her  in  safety  from  their  contaminating  grasp ,  or 
whether  I  fall  into  their  snares  and  perish  ,  there  is  an 
equal  chance  that  I  may  return  no  more  to  Granada. 
Should  this  be  so,  you  will  be  heir  to  such  wealth  as  I 
leave  in  these  places  ^  I  know  that  your  age  will  be  con- 
soled for  the  lack  of  children ,  when  your  eyes  look  upon 
the  laugh  of  gold." 

Ximen  bowed  low,  and  mumbled  out  some  inaudible 
protestations  and  thanks.  Almamen  sighed  heavily  as  he 
looked  round  the  room.  "I  have  evil  omens  in  my  soul, 
and  evil  prophecies  in  my  books,"  said  he,  mournfully. 
"But  the  worst  is  here,"  he  added,  putting  his  finger 
significantly  to  his  temples^  "the  string  is  stretched — one 
more  blow  would  snap  it." 

As  he  thus  said ,  he  opened  the  door,  and  vanished 
through  that  labyrinth  of  galleries,    by   which  he  was 


118  LEILA, 

enabled  at  all  limes  to  reach  unobserved  either  the  palace 
of  the  Alhambra ,  or  the  gardens  without  the  gates  of  the 
city. 

Ximen  remained  behind  a  few  moments,  in  deep.thought. 
"  All  mine  if  he  dies ! "  said  he ;  ''  all  mine  if  he  does  not 
return !  All  mine ,  all  mine !  and  I  have  not  a  child  nor  a 
kinsman  in  the  world  to  clutch  it  away  from  me  I "  With 
that  he  locked  the  vault ,  and  returned  to  the  upper  air. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   FUGITIVE   AND   THE   MEETING. 

In  their  different  directions  the  rival  kings  were  equally 
successful.  Salobreiia ,  but  lately  conquered  by  the  Christ- 
ians ,  was  thrown  into  a  commotion  by  the  first  glimpse 
of  Boabdil's  bankers  ^  the  populace  rose,  beat  back  their 
Christian  guards ,  and  opened  the  gates  to  the  last  of  their 
race  of  kings.  The  garrison  alone ,  to  which  the  Spaniards 
retreated,  resisted  Boabdil's  arms;  and,  defended  by 
impregnable  walls ,  promised  an  obstinate  and  bloody 
siege. 

Meanwhile ,  Ferdinand  had  no  sooner  entered  Cordova, 
than  his  extensive  scheme  of  confiscation  and  holy  perse- 
cution commenced.  Not  only  did  more  than  five  hundred 
Jews  perish  in  the  dark  and  secret  gripe  of  the  grand 
inquisitor,  but  several  hundred  of  the  wealthiest  Christian 
families,  in  whose  blood  was  detected  the  hereditary 
Jewish  taint ,  were  thrown  into  prison  ;  and  such  as  were 
most  fortunate  purchased  life  by  the  sacrifice  of  half  their 
treasures.  At  this  time,  however,  there  suddenly  broke 
forth  a  formidable  insurrection  amongst  these  miserable 
subjects —  the  Messenians  ol  the  Iberian  Sparta.  The 
Jews  were  so  far  aroused  from  their  long  debasement  by 


OR    THE    SIEGE    Ol     GRANADA.  119 

omnipotent  despair,  that  a  single  spark,  falling  on  the 
ashes  of  their  ancient  spirit ,  rekindled  the  flame  of  the 
descendants  of  the  fierce  warriors  of  Palestine.  They  were 
encouraged  and  assisted  by  the  suspected  Christians,  who 
had  been  involved  in  the  same  persecution ;  and  the  whole 
were  headed  by  a  man  who  appeared  suddenly  amongst 
them ,  and  whose  fiery  eloquence  and  martial  spirit  pro- 
duced ,  at  such  a  season ,  the  most  fervent  enthusiasm. 
Unhappily,  the  whole  details  of  this  singular  outbreak  are 
withheld  from  us;  only  by  wary  hints  and  guarded  allusions 
do  the  Spanish  chroniclers  apprise  us  of  its  existence  and 
its  perils.  It  is  clear  that  all  narrative  of  an  event,  that  might 
most  afford  the  dangerous  precedents ,  and  was  alarming 
to  the  pride  and  avarice  of  the  Spanish  king ,  as  well  as 
the  pious  zeal  of  the  church  ,  was  strictly  forbidden  ;  and 
the  conspiracy  was  hushed  in  the  dread  silence  of  the 
Inquisition ,  into  whose  hands  the  principal  conspirators 
ultimately  fell.  We  learn,  only,  that  a  determined  and 
sanguinary  struggle  was  followed  by  the  triumph  of  Fer- 
dinand ,  and  the  complete  extinction  of  the  treason. 

It  was  one  evening  that  a  solitary  fugitive,  hard  chased 
by  an  armed  troop  of  the  brothers  of  St.  Hermandad ,  was 
seen  emerging  from  a  wild  and  rocky  defile ,  which 
opened  abruptly  on  the  gardens  of  a  small ,  and ,  by  the 
absence  of  fortification  and  sentries,  seemingly  deserted, 
castle.  Behind  him .  in  the  exceeding  stillness  which 
characterises  the  air  of  a  Spanish  twifight,  he  heard  ,  at  a 
considerable  distance  ,  the  blast  of  the  horn  and  the  tramp 
of  hoofs.  His  pursuers  ,  divided  into  several  detachments , 
were  scouring  the  country  after  him ,  as  the  fishermen 
draw  their  nets,  from  bank  to  bank,  conscious  that  the 
prey  they  drive  before  the  meshes  cannot  escape  them  al 
the  last.  The  fugitive  halted  in  doubt  ,^  and  gazed  round 
him  :  he  was  well  nigh  exhausted  ^  his  eyes  were  bloodshot ; 
the  large  drops  rolled  fast  down  his  brow :  his  whole 
frame  quivered  and  palpitated  ,  like  that  of  a  stag  when  he 


120  LEILA, 

stands  at  bay.  Beyond  the  castle  spread  a  broad  plain , 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach ,  without  shrub  or  hollow  to 
conceal  his  form  :  flight  across  a  space  so  favourable  to 
his  pursuers  was  evidently  in  vain.  No  alternative  was 
left ,  unless  he  turned  back  on  the  very  path  taken  by  the 
horsemen ,  or  trusted  to  such  scanty  and  perilous  shelter 
as  the  copses  in  the  castle  garden  might  afford  him.  He 
decided  on  the  latter  refuge,  cleared  the  low  and  lonely  wall 
that  girded  the  demesne ,  and  plunged  into  a  thicket  of 
overhanging  oaks  and  chestnuts. 

At  that  hour,  and  in  that  garden ,  by  the  side  of  a  little 
fountain ,  were  seated  two  females  :  the  one  of  mature  and 
somewhat  advanced  years  ^  the  other,  in  the  flower  of 
virgin  youth.  But  the  flower  was  prematurely  faded  ^  and 
neither  the  bloom ,  nor  sparkle ,  nor  undulating  play  of 
feature,  that  should  have  suited  her  age,  was  visible  in 
the  marble  paleness  and  contemplative  sadness  of  her 
beautiful  countenance. 

"Alas I  my  young  friend,"  said  the  elder  of  these 
ladies,  "  it  is  in  these  hours  of  sohtude  and  calm,  that  we 
are  most  deeply  impressedf  with  the  nothingness  of  life. 
Thou,  my  sweet  convert ,  art  now  the  object,  no  longer 
of  my  compassion ,  but  my  envy  :  and  earnestly  do  I  feel 
convinced  of  the  blessed  repose  thy  spirit  will  enjoy  in  the 
lap  of  the  Mother  Church.  Happy  are  they  who  die  young  ^ 
but  thrice  happy  they  who  die  in  the  spirit  rather  than  the 
flesh  :  dead  to  sin ,  but  not  to  virtue  •,  to  terror,  not  to  hope  •, 
to  man,  but  not  to  God  I " 

"  Dear  senora,"  replied  the  young  maiden  ,  mournfully, 
"  were  I  alone  on  earth ,  Heaven  is  my  witness  with  what 
deep  and  thankful  resignation  I  should  take  the  holy  vows, 
and  forsw^ear  the  past  :  but  the  heart  remains  human, 
however  divine  the  hope  that  it  may  cherish.  And  some- 
times I  start ,  and  think  of  home  ,  of  childhood ,  of  my 
strange  but  beloved  father,  deserted  and  childless  in  his 
old  ace." 


OR   THE    SlEGi£    OF   GRANADA.  121 

"Thine,  Leila,"  returned  Ihe  elder  senora,  "  arc  but 
the  sorrows  our  nature  is  doomed  to.  AVhat  matter 
whether  absence  or  death  sever  the  affections?  Thou 
lamentest  a  father  -.  I ,  a  son  ,  dead  in  the  pride  of  his  youth 
and  beauty  —  a  husband,  languishing  in  the  fetters  of  the 
Moor.  Take  comfort  for  thy  sorrows ,  in  the  reflection 
that  sorrow  is  the  heritage  of  all." 

Ere  Leila  could  reply,  the  orange-boughs  that  sheltered 
the  spot  where  they  sat  were  put  aside ,  and  between  the 
women  and  the  fountain  stood  the  dark  form  of  Almamen, 
the  Israelite.  Leila  rose,  shrieked,  and  tlung  herself, 
unconscious ,  on  his  breast. 

''  O  Lord  of  Israel  I  "  cried  Almamen  ,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
anguish ,  "  do  I ,  then ,  at  last  regain  my  child?  do  I  press 
her  to  my  heart?  and  is  it  only  for  that  brief  moment, 
when  I  sjand  upon  the  brink  of  death?  Leila,  my  child, 
look  up!  smile  upon  thy  father  :  let. him  feel,  on  his 
maddening  and  burning  brow,  the  sweet  breath  of  the  last 
of  his  race,  and  bear  with  him,  at  least,  one  holy  and 
gentle  thought  to  the  dark  grave." 

"  My  father  I  is  it  indeed  my  father?"  said  Leila,  re- 
covering herself,  and  drawing  back  ,  that  she  might  assure 
herself  of  that  familiar  face  ^  "  it  is  thou  I  it  is — it  is  I  Oh  I 
what  blessed  chance  brings  us  together? " 

"  That  chance  is  the  destiny  that  now  guides  me  to  my 
tomb,"  answered  Almamen  ,  solemnly.  "  Hark  I  hear  you 
not  the  sound  of  their  rushing  steeds — their  Impatient 
voices?   They  are  on  me  nowl " 

"  Who  ?   Of  whom  speakest  thou  ? " 

"  My  pursuers— the  horsemen  of  the  Spaniard." 

"  Oh ,  senora ,  save  him  I  "  cried  Leila ,  turning  to  Donna 
Inez  ,  whom  both  father  and  child  had  hitherto  forgotten , 
and  who  now  stood  gazing  upon  Almamen  with  wondering 
and  anxious  eyes.  "  Whither  can  he  fly?  The  vaults  of 
the  castle  may  conceal  him.    This  way — hasten ! " 

"  Stay,"  said  Inez,  trembling .  and  ai>proaching  close  to 


122  LEILA, 

x\lmamen  :"  do  I  see  aright?  and,  amidst  the  dark  change 
of  years  and  trial ,  do  I  recognise  that  stately  form ,  which 
once  contrasted  to  the  sad  eye  of  a  mother  the  drooping 
and  faded  form  of  her  only  son?  Art  thou  not  he  who 
saved  my  boy  from  the  pestilence ,  who  accompanied  him 
to  the  shores  of  Naples ,  and  consigned  him  to  these 
arms  ?  Look  on  me  I  dost  thou  not  recall  the  mother  of  thy 
friend?" 

"  I  recall  thy  features ,  dimly  and  as  in  a  dream ," 
answered  the  Hebrew^  "and,  while  thou  speakest,  rush 
upon  me  the  memories  of  an  earlier  time ,  in  lands  where 
Leila  first  looked  upon  the  day,  and  her  mother  sung  to  me 
at  sunset ,  by  the  rush  of  the  Euphrates  ,  and  on  the  sites 
of  departed  empires.  Thy  son  —  I  remember  now  :  I 
had  friendship  then  with  a  Christian  —  for  I  was  still 
young." 

"  Waste  not  the  time  —  father  —  senora !  "  cried  Leila , 
impatiently,  clinging  still  to  her  father's  breast. 

"  You  are  rights  nor  shall  your  sire,  in  whom  1  thus 
wonderfully  recognise  my  son's  friend ,  perish ,  if  I  can  save 
him." 

Inez  then  conducted  her  strange  guest  to  a  small  door  in 
the  rear  of  the  castle  •,  and ,  after  leading  him  through  some 
of  the  principal  apartments ,  left  him  in  one  of  the  ward- 
robes, or  tiring-rooms,  adjoining  her  own  chamber,  and 
the  entrance  to  which  the  arras  concealed.  She  rightly 
judged  this  a  safer  retreat  than  the  vaults  of  the  castle  might 
afford,  since  her  great  name  and  known  intimacy  with 
Isabel  would  preclude  all  suspicion  of  her  abetting  in  the 
escape  of  the  fugitive,  and  keep  those  places  the  most 
secure  in  which ,  without  such  aid ,  he  could  not  have 
secreted  himself. 

In  a  few  minutes ,  several  of  the  troop  arrived  at  the 
castle  ^  and ,  on  learning  the  name  of  its  owner,  contented 
Ihemselves  with  searching  the  gardens ,  and  the  lower  and 
more  exposed  apartments  ^  and  then ,  recommending  to 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  123 

the  servants  a  vigilant  look-out,  remounted,  and  proceeded 
to  scour  the  plain ,  over  Nvhich  now  slowly  fell  the  starlight 
and  shade  of  night. 

When  Leila  stole ,  at  last ,  to  the  room  in  which  Alma- 
men  was  hid  ,  she  found  him  ,  stretched  on  his  mantle  ,  in 
a  deep  sleep.  Exhausted  by  all  he  had  undergone,  and 
his  rigid  nerves ,  as  it  were ,  relaxed  by  the  sudden  softness 
of  that  interview  with  his  child ,  the  slumber  of  that  fiery 
wanderer  was  as  calm  as  an  infant's.  And  their  relation 
almost  seemed  reversed,  and  the  daugh-ter  to  be  as  a 
mother  watching  over  her  offspring ,  when  Leila  seated 
herself  softly  by  him  ,  fixing  her  eyes  —  to  which  the  t^rs 
came  ever,  ever  to  be  brushed  away  —  upon  his  worn  but 
tranquil  features ,  made  yet  more"  serene  by  the  quiet 
light  that  glimmered  through  the  casement.  And  so 
])assed  the  hours  of  that  night  ^  and  the  father  and  the 
chil^  —  the  meek  convert ,  the  revengeful  fanatic  —  were 
un(fer  the  same  roof. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ALMAMEN   HEARS   AND  SEES,  EUT  REFUSES    TO   BELIEVE;   FOR   THE  BRAIN,   OVER- 
•WROUGHT,  GROWS  DULL,  E\ES  IN  THE  KEENEST. 

The  dawn  broke  slowly  upon  the  chamber,  and  Alma- 
men  still  slept.  It  was  the  Sabbath  of  the  Christians — that 
day  on  which  the  Saviour  rose  from  the  dead^  thence 
named  ,  so  emphatically  and  sublimely,  by  the  early  church. 
The  Lord's  Day  '.  And ,  as  the  ray  of  the  sun  flashed  in 
the  East ,  it  fell  like  a  glory,  over  a  crucifix ,  placed  in  the 
deep  recess  of  the  Gothic  casement ;  and  brought  slartingly 
before  the  eyes  of  Leila  that  face ,  upon  which  the  rudest 
of  the  Catholic  sculptors  rarely  fail  to  preserve  the  mystic 

■  Before  the  Chrisliau  era.  iho  Sunday  was,  however,  called  iho  Lords  day , 
(.  e.  the  day  of  the  Lord  the  Sun. 


124  LEILA, 

and  awful  union  of  the  expiring  anguish  of  the  man  ,  with 
the  lofty  patience  of  the  God.  It  looked  upon  her,  that 
face-,  it  invited,  it  encouraged,  while  it  thrilled  and 
subdued.  She  stole  gently  from  the  side  of  her  father^ 
she  crept  to  the  spot,  and  flung  herself  on  her  knees, 
beside  the  consecrated  image. 

"  Support  me ,  O  Redeemer !  "  she  murmured ,  —  "sup- 
port thy  creature!  strengthen  her  steps  in  the  blessed  path, 
though  it  divide  her,  irrevocably  from  all  that  on  earth  she 
loves  :  and ,  if  there  be  a  sacrifice  in  her  solemn  choice , 
accept ,  O  Thou  ,  the  Crucified !  accept  it ,  in  part  atone- 
ment of  the  crime  of  her  stubborn  race  ^  and ,  hereafter, 
let  the  lips  of  a  maiden  of  Jud«a  implore  thee ,  not  in  vain , 
for  some  mitigation  of  the  awful  curse  that  hath  fallen 
justly  upon  her  tribe." 

As,  broken  by  low  sobs ,  and  in  a  choked  and  muttered 
voice ,  Leila  poured  forth  her  prayer,  she  was  startled^y  a 
deep  groan  ^  and,  turning  in  alarm ,  she  saw  tliat  Almamen 
had  awaked ,  and,  leaning  on  his  arm,  was  now  bending 
upon  her  his  dark  eyes ,  once  more  gleaming  with  all  their 
wonted  fire. 

"Speak,"  he  said,  as  she  coweringly  hid  her  face  ^ 
"  speak  to  me ,  or  I  shall  be  turned  to  stone  by  one  horrid 
thought.  It  is  not  before  that  symbol  that  thou  kneelest  in 
adoration^  and  my  sense  wanders,  if  it  tell  me  that  thy 
broken  words  expressed  the  worship  of  an  apostate  I  In 
mercy ,  speak ! " 

"  Father  I"  began  Leila ^  but  her  lips  refused  to  utter 
more  than  that  touching  and  holy  word. 

Almamen  rose ,  and ,  plucking  the  hands  from  her  face , 
gazed  on  her  some  moments,  as  if  he'  would  penetrate  her 
very  soul  ^  and  Leila ,  recovering  her  courage  in  the  pause, 
by  degrees  ,  met  his  eyes ,  unquailing  —  her  pure  and  in- 
genuous brow  raised  to  his ,  and  sadness  ,  but  not  guilt , 
speaking  from  every  line  of  that  lovely  face. 

"  Thou  dost  not  tremble,"  said  Almamen,  at  length. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANVDA.  If 5 

breaking  the  silence,  —  "  and  I  have  erred.    Thou  art  not 
the  criminal  I  deemed  thee.    Come  to  my  arms  I " 

"  Alas'."  said  Leila ,  obeying  the  instinct ,  and  casting 
herself  upon  that  rugged  bosom,  —  "  I  will  dare ,  at  least , 
not  to  disavow  my  God.  Father  !  by  that  dread  anathema 
which  is  on  our  race ,  which  has  made  us  homeless  and 
powerless  —  outcasts  and  strangers  in  the  land ;  by  the  per- 
secution and  anguish  we  have  known ,  teach  thy  lordly 
heart  that  we  are  rightly  punished ,  for  the  persecution  and 
the  anguish  we  doomed  to  Him  ,  whose  footstep  hallowed 
our  native  earth  I  First  ,  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
DID  the  stern  Hebrews  ixflict  upon  mankind  the 

AWFUL  CRIME  OF  PERSECUTION  FOR  OPINION'S  SAKE.    The 

seed  we  sowed  hath  brought  forth  the  Dead  Sea  fruit  upon 
which  we  feed.  I  asked  for  resignation  and  for  hope  :  I 
looked  upon  ypnder  cross ,  and  I  found  both.  Harden  not 
thy  heart;  listefi  to  thy  child:  wise  though  thou  be,  and 
weak  though  her  woman  spirit,  listen  to  me." 

"  Be  dumb  I  "  cried  Almamen,  in  such  a  voice  as  might 
have  come  from  the  charnel ,  so  ghostly  and  deathly  sound- 
ed its  hollow  tone  :  then,  recoiling  some  steps,  he  placed 
both  his  hands  upon  his  temples,  and  muttered,  "  mad  , 
mad  I  yes ,  yes ,  —  this  is  but  a  delirium  —  and  I  am  tempted 
with  a  devil  I  Oh,  my  child  I"  he  resumed,  in  a  voice 
that  became ,  on  the  sudden  ,  inexpressibly  tender  and  im- 
ploring,—"  I  have  been  sorely  tried;  and  I  dreamt  a  fe- 
verish dream  of  passion  and  revenge.  Be  thine  the  lips , 
and  thine  the  soothing  hand  ,  that  shall  wake  me  from  it. 
Let  us  fly  for  ever  from  these  hated  lands ;  let  us  leave  to 
these  miserable  infidels  their  bloody  contest,  careless  which 
shall  fall.  To  a  soil  on  which  ihe  iron  heel  does  not  clang, 
to  an  air  where  mans  orisons  fise ,  in  solitude ,  to  the 
Great  Jehovah ,  let  us  hasten  our  wearied  steps.  Come  I 
while  the  castle  yet  sleeps ,  let^us  forth  unseen  —  the  father 
and  the  child.  We  will  hold  sweet  commune  by  the  way. 
And.  hark  ve,  Leila  .'^  he  added,  in  a  low  and  abrupt 


126  LEILA, 

whisper,  "  talk  not  to  me  of  yonder  symbol ;  for  thy  God  is 
a  jealous  God  ,  and  hath  no  likeness  in  the  graven  image." 

Had  he  been  less  exhausted  by  long  travail  and  racking 
thoughts ,  far  different ,  perhaps ,  would  have  been  the  lan- 
guage of  a  man  so  stern.  But  circumstance  impresses  the 
hardest  substance  5  and  despite  his  native  intellect ,  and 
affected  superiority  over  others,  no  one,  perhaps,  was 
more  human ,  in  his  fitful  moods ,  —  his  weakness  and  his 
strength ,  his  passion  and  his  purpose ,  —  than  that  strange 
man ,  who  had  dared ,  in  his  dark  studies ,  and  arrogant 
self-will ,  to  aspire  beyond  humanity. 

That  was ,  indeed^  a  perilous  moment  for  the  young  con- 
vert. The  unexpected  softness  of  her  father  utterly  sub- 
dued her  •,  nor  was  she  yet  sufficiently  possessed  of  that  all- 
denying  zeal  of  the  Catholic  enthusiast,  to  which  every 
human  tie,  and  earthlier  duty,  has  been  often  sacrificed , 
on  the  shrine  of  a  rapt  and  metaphysical  piety.  Whatever 
her  opinions,  her  new  creed  ,  her  secret  desire  of  the  clois- 
ter—  fed,  as  it  was,  by  the  subfime,  though  fallacious 
notion,  that  in  her  conversion,  her  sacrifice ,  the  crimes  of 
her  race  might  be  expiated,  in  the  eyes  of  Him  whose  death 
had  been  the  great  atonement  of  a  world ;  whatever  such 
higher  thoughts  and  sentiments ,  they  gave  way,  at  that 
moment ,  to  the  irresistible  impulse  of  household  nature 
and  of  filial  duty.  Should  she  desert  her  father,  and  could 
that  desertion  be  a  virtue?  her  heart  put  and  answered  both 
questions  in  a  breath.  She  approached  Almamen ,  placed 
her  hand  in  his,  and  said,  steadily  and  calmly,  "  Father, 
wheresoever  thou  goest,  I  wiU  wend  with  thee." 

But  Heaven  ordained  to  each  another  destiny  than  might 
have  been  theirs ,  had  the  dictates  of  that  impulse  been 
fulfilled.  • 

Ere  Almamen  could  reply,  a  trumpet  sounded  clear  and 
loud  at  the  gate. 

"  Hark  I  "  he  said ,  griping  his  dagger,  and  starting  back 
to  a  sense  of  the  dangers  round  him.  "  They  come  —  my 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  127 

pursuers  and  my  murtherers  I  but  these  limbs  are  sacred 
from  the  rack." 

Even  that  sound  of  ominous  danger  was  almost  a  reliei 
to  Leila  :  "  I  will  go ,"  she  said,  "  and  learn  what  the  blast 
betokens  ^  remain  here  —  be  cautious—I  will  return. 

Several  minutes ,  however,  elapsed  ,  before  Leila  reap- 
peared :  she  was  accompanied  by  Donna  Inez,  whose  pale- 
ness and  agitation  betokened  her  alarm.  A  courier  had 
arrived  at  the  gate  to  announce  the  approach  of  the  queen , 
who,  with  a  considerable  force ,  was  on  her  way  to  join 
Ferdinand,  then,  in  the  usual  rapidity  of  his  movements  , 
before  one  of  the  Moorish  towns  that  had  revolted  from 
his  allegiance.  It  was  impossible  for  Almamen  to  remain 
in  safety  in  the  castle ;  and  the  only  hope  of  escape  was 
departing  immediately  and  in  disguise. 

"  I  have,"  she  said ,  "  a  trusty  and  faithful  servant  with 
me  in  the  castle,  to  whom  I  can,  without  anxiety,  confide 
the  charge  of  your  safety  :  and  even  if  suspected  by  the 
way,  my  name,  and  the  companionship  of  my  servant,  will 
remove  all  obstacles^  it  is  not  a  long  journey  hence  to 
Guadix ,  which  has  already  revolted  to  the  Moors  :  there , 
till  the  armies  of  Ferdinand  surround  the  walls ,  your  re- 
fuge may  be  secure." 

Almamen  remained  for  some  moments  plunged  in  a 
gloomy  silence.  But,  at  length ,  he  signified  his  assent  to 
the  plan  proposed ,  and  Donna  Inez  hastened  to  give  the 
directions  to  his  intended  guide. 

"Leila,"  said  the  Hebrew,  when  left  alone  with  his 
daughter,  '*  think  not  that  it  is  for  mine  own  safety  that  I 
stoop  to  this  flight  from  thee.  No  :  but  never  till  thou 
wert  lost  to  me ,  by  mine  own  rash  confidence  in  another, 
did  I  know  how  dear  to  my  heart  was  the  last  scion  of  my 
race,  the  sole  memorial  left  to  me  of  thy  mother's  love. 
Regaining  thee  once  more ,  a  new  and  a  soft  existence 
opens  upon  my  eyes ;  and  the  earth  seems  to  change,  as  by 
a  sudden  revolution ,  from  winter  into  spring.    For  thy 


128  LEIL\  , 

sake  I  consent  to  use  all  the  means  that  man's  inteilect  can 
devise ,  for  preservation  from  my  foes.  iMeanwhile ,  here 
will  rest  my  soul  ^  to  this  spot ,  within  one  week  from  this 
period  —  no  matter  through  what  danger  I  pass  —  I  shall 
return  :  then  I  shall  claim  thy  promise.  I  will  arrange  all 
things  for  our  flight,  and  no  stone  shall  harm  thy  footstep 
by  the  way.  The  Lord  of  Israel  be  with  thee,  my  daughter, 
and  strengthen  thy  heart!  But,"  he  added,  tearing  him- 
self from  her  embrace,  as  he  heard  steps  ascending  to  the 
chamber,  "deem  not  that,  in  this  most  fond  and  fatherly 
affection,  I  forget  what  is  due  to  me  and  thee.  Think  not 
that  my  love  is  only  the  brute  and  insensate  feeling  of  the 
progenitor  to  the  off*spring  :  I  love  thee  for  thy  mother's 
sake  —  I  love  thee  for  thine  own  —  I  love  thee  yet  more 
for  the  sake  of  Israel.  If  thou  perish,  if  thou  art  lost  to  us, 
thou,  the  last  daughter  of  the  house  of  Issachar,  then  the 
haughtiest  family  of  God's  great  people  is  extinct." 

Here  Inez  appeared  at  the  door,  but  withdrew,  at  the 
impatient  and  lordly  gesture  of  Almamen ,  who,  without 
further  heed  of  the  interruption  ,  resumed  : 

"  I  look  to  thee  ,  and  thy  seed ,  for  the  regeneration 
which  I  once  trusted,  fool  that  I  was,  mine  own  day  might 
see  effected.  Let  this  pass.  Thou  art  under  the  roof  of  the 
Nazarene.  I  will  not  beheve  that  the  arts  we  have  resisted 
against  fire  and  sword  can  prevail  with  thee.  But,  if  I  err, 
awful  will  be  the  penalty  I  Could  I  once  know  that  thou 
hadst  forsaken  thy  ancestral  creed,  though  ^Varrior  and 
priest  stood  by  thee,  though  thousands  and-ten  thousands 
were  by  thy  right  hand ,  this  steel  should  save  the  race  of 
Issachar  from  dishonour.  Beware  I  Thou  weepest  •,  but , 
child ,  I  warn  ,  not  threaten.  God  be  with  thee  I " 

He  wrung  the  cold  hand  of  his  child ,  turned  to  the  door, 
and ,  after  such  disguise  as  the  brief  time  allowed  him  could 
afford ,  quitted  the  castle  with  his  Spanish  guide ,  who , 
accustomed  to  the  benevolence  of  his  mistress,  obeyed  her 
injunction  without  wonder,  though  not  without  suspicion. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  129 

The  third  part  of  an  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed,  and  the 
sun  was  yet  on  the  mountain-tops,  when  Isabel  arrived. 

She  came  to  announce  that  the  outbreaks  of  the  Moorish 
towns  in  the  vicinity  rendered  the  half-fortifie'd  castle  of 
her  friend  no  longer  a  secure  abode  ;  and  she  honoured  the 
Spanish  lady  with  a  command  to  accompany  her,  with  her 
female  suite,  to  the  camp  of  Ferdinand. 

Leila  received  the  intelligence  with  a  kind  of  stupor.  Her 
interview  with  her  father,  the  strong  and  fearful  contests  of 
emotion  which  that  interview  occasioned  ,  left  her  senses 
faint  and  dizzy  •,  and,  when  she  found  herself,  by  the  twilight 
star^  once  more  with  the  train  of  Isabel ,  the  only  feeling 
that  stirred  actively  through  her  stunned  and  bewildered 
mind ,  was ,  that  the  hand  of  Providence  conducted  her 
from  a  temptation  that,  the  Reader  of  all  hearts  knew, 
the  daughter  and  the  woman  would  have  been  too  feeble 
to  resist. 

On  the  fifth  day  from  his  departure ,  Almamen  returned 
—  to  find  the  castle  deserted ,  and  his  daughter  gone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    THE   FERMENT   OF   GREAT   EVENTS   THE   DREGS   RISE. 

The  IsraeUtes  did  not  limit  their  struggles  to  the  dark 
conspiracy  to  which  allusion  has  been  made.  In  some  of 
the  Moorish  towns  that  revolted  from  Ferdinand  ,  they 
renounced  the  neutrality  they  had  hitherto  maintained 
between  Christian  and  Moslem.  AVhether  it  was  that  they 
were  inflamed  by  the  fearful  and  wholesale  barbarities 
enforced  by  Ferdinand  and  the  Inquisition  against  their 
tribe  •,  or  whether  they  were  stirred  up  by  one  of  their  own 
order,  in  whom  was  recognised  the  head  of  their  most 
sacred  family;  or  whether,  as  is  most  probable,  both 


130  LEILA, 

causes  combined  —  certain  it  is ,  that  they  manifested  a 
feeling  that  was  thoroughly  unknown  to  the  ordinary  habits 
and  policy  of  that  peaceable  people.  They  bore  great  treasure 
to  the  pubHc  stock —  they  demanded  arms,  and,  under  their 
own  leaders ,  were  admitted  ,  though  with  much  jealousy 
and  precaution ,  into  the  troops  of  the  arrogant  and  dis- 
dainful Moslems. 

In  this  conjunction  of  hostile  planets,  Ferdinand  had 
recourse  to  his  favourite  policy  of  wile  and  stratagem. 
Turning  against  the  Jews  the  very  treaty  Almamen  had 
once  sought  to  obtain  in  their  favour ,  he  caused  it  to  be 
circulated,  privately,  that  the  Jews,  anxious  to  purchase 
their  peace  with  him ,  had  promised  to  betray  the  Moorish 
towns,  and  Granada  itself,  into  his  hands.  The  paper,  which 
Ferdinand  himself  had  signed  in  his  interview  with  Alma- 
men ,  and  of  which ,  on  the  capture  of  the  Hebrew,  he  had 
taken  care  to  repossess  himself ,  he  gave  to  a  spy,  whom 
he  sent,  disguised  as  a  Jew,  into  one  of  the  revolted 
cities. 

Private  intelligence  reached  the  Moorish  ring-leader  of 
the  arrival  of  this  envoy.  He  was  seized,  and  the  document 
found  on  his  person.  The  form  of  the  words  drawn  up  by 
Almamen  (who  had  carefully  omitted  mention  of  his  own 
name  —  whether  that  which  he  assumed ,  or  that  which  , 
by  birth,  he  should  have  borne)  merely  conveyed  the 
compact,  that  if,  by  a  Jew,  within  two  weeks  from  the 
date  therein  specified,  Granada  was  delivered  to  the  Christ- 
ian king,  the  Jews  should  enjoy  certain  immunities  and 
rights. 

The  discovery  of  this  document  filled  the  Moors  of  the 
city  to  which  the  spy  had  been  sent  with  a  fury  that  no 
words  can  describe.  Always  distrusting  their  allies,  they 
now  imagined  they  perceived  the  sole  reason  of  their 
sudden  enthusiasm ,  of  their  demand  for  arms.  The  mob 
rose  :  the  principal  Jew  s  were  seized  and  massacred  withoul 
trial ,  some  by  the  wratti  of  the  multitude ,  some  h\  the 


OK    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  131 

slower  tortures  of  the  magistrate.  Messengers  were  sent  to 
the  different  revolted  towns  ,  and  ,  above  all ,  to  Granada 
itself,  to  put  the  Moslems  on  their  guard  against  these 
unhappy  enemies  of  either  party.  At  once  covetous  and 
ferocious,  the  Moors  rivalled  the  Inquisition  in  their  cruelty, 
and  Ferdinand  in  their  extortion. 

It  was  the  dark  fate  of  Almamen  ,  as  of  most  premature 
and  heated  liberators  of  the  enslaved  ,  to  double  the  terrors 
and  the  evils  he  had  sought  to  cure.  The  warning  arrived 
at  Granada  at  a  time  in  which  the  vizier,  Jusef,  had 
received  the  commands  of  his  royal  miaster,  still  at  the 
siege  of  Salobreiia  ,  to  use  every  exertion  to  fill  the  wasting 
treasuries.  Fearful  of  new  exactions  against  the  Moors,  the 
vizier  hailed ,  as  a  message  from  Heaven  ,  so  just  a  pretext 
for  anew  and  sweeping  impost  on  the  Jews.  The  spendthrift 
violence  of  the  mob  was  restrained,  because  it  was  headed 
by  the  authorities ,  who  were  wisely  anxious  that  the  state 
should  have  no  rival  in  the  plunder  it  required  ^  and  the 
work  of  confiscation  and  robbery  was  carried  on  w^th  a 
majestic  and  calm  regularity,  which  redounded  no  less  to 
the  credit  of  Jusef  than  it  contributed  to  the  coffers  of  the 
king. 

It  was  late,  one  evening  ,  when  Ximen  was  making  his 
usual  round  through  the  chambers  of  Almamen's  house. 
As  he  glanced  around  at  the  various  articles  of  wealth  and 
luxury,  he ,  ever  and  anon  ,  burst  into  a  low  fitful  chuckle, 
rubbed  his  lean  hands,  and  mumbled  out,  —  "  If  my  master 
should  die  I  if  my  master  should  die  I  " 

While  thus  engaged ,  he  heard  a  confused  and  distant 
shout :  and ,  listening  attentively,  he  distinguished  a  cry, 
grown  of  late  sufilciently  familiar,  of,  "Live,  Jusef  the 
just  I  —  perish  the  traitor  Jews ! " 

"  Ah  I  "  said  Ximen,  as  the  whole  character  of  his  face 
changed;  -'some  new  robbery  upon  our  race  I  And  this  is 
thy  work  ,  son  of  Issachar  I  Madman  that  thoa  wert ,  to  be 
wiser  than  thv  sires .  and  seek  to  dupe  the  idolaters  in  the 


132  LEILA  , 

council-chamber  and  the  camp— their  field,  their  vantage- 
ground  ^  as  the  bazaar  and  the  market-place  are  ours.  ISon«' 
suspect  that  the  potent  santon  is  the  traitor  Jew ;  but  I 
know  it !  I  could  give  thee  to  the  bow-string — and ,  if  thou 
wert  dead ,  all  thy  goods  and  gold ,  even  to  the  mule  at 
the  manger,  would  be  old  Ximen's." 

He  paused  at  that  thought ,  shut  his  eyes,  and  smiled  at 
the  prospect  his  fancy  conjured  up  \  and,  completing  his 
survey,  retired  to  his  own  chamber,  which  opened ,  by  a 
small  door,  upon  one  of  the  back  courts.  He  had  scarcely 
reached  the  room ,  when  he  heard  a  low  tap  at  the  outer 
door  ^  and  ,  w^hen  it  was  thrice  repeated  ,  he  knew  that  it 
was  one  of  his  Jewish  brethren.  For  Ximen  —  as  years , 
isolation ,  and  avarice  gnawed  away  whatever  of  virtue 
once  put  forth  some  meagre  fruit  from  a  heart  naturally 
bare  and  rocky  —  still  preserved  one  human  feeling  towards 
his  countrymen.  It  was  the  bond  which  unites  all  the 
persecuted  :  and  Ximen  loved  them  ,  because  he  could  not 
envy  their  happiness.  The  power  —  the  knowledge  —  the 
lofty,  though  wild  designs  of  his  master,  stung  and  humbled 
him  :  he  secretly  hated,  because  lie  could  not  compassionate 
or  contemn  him.  But  the  bowed  frame,  and  slavish  voice, 
and  timid  nerves  of  his  crushed  brotherhood,  presented  to 
the  old  man  the  likeness  of  things  that  could  not  exult  over 
him.  Debased ,  and  aged,  and  solitary  as  he  was,  he  felt  a 
kind  of  wintry  warmth  in  the  thought  that  even  he  had  the 
power  to  protect ! 

He  thus  maintained  an  intercourse  with  his  fellow  Israe- 
lites \  and  often ,  in  their  dangers ,  had  afforded  them  a 
refuge  in  the  numerous  vaults  and  passages ,  the  ruins  of 
which  may  still  be  descried  beneath  the  mouldering  founda- 
tions of  that  mysterious  mansion.  And  ,  as  the  house 
was  generally  supposed  the  property  of  an  absent  emir , 
and  had  been  especially  recommended  to  the  care  of  the 
cadis  by  Boabdil,  who  alone  of  the  Moors  knew  it  as  one 
of  the  dwelling-places  of  the  santon  ,  whose  ostensible  re- 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAWIM.  133 

sidenCe  was  in  apartments  allotted  to  him  within  tlie  pa- 
lace,—  it  was,  perhaps,  the  sole  place  within  Granada 
which  afforded  an  unsuspected  and  secure  refuge  to  the 
hunted  Israelites. 

When  Ximen  recognised  the  wonted  signal  of  his 
brethren ,  he  crawled  to  the  door  ^  and  ,  after  the  precau- 
tion of  a  Hebrew  watchword ,  replied  to  in  the  same  tongue, 
he  gave  admittance  to  the  tall  and  stooping  frame  of  the 
rich  Elias. 

"Worthy  and  excellent  master  I"  said  Ximen,  after 
again  securing  the  entrance^  "  what  can  bring  the 
honoured  and  wealthy  Elias  to  the  chamber  of  the  poor 
hireling?" 

*'  My  friend,"  answered  the  Jew  ^' "  call  me  not  wealthy, 
nor  honoured.  For  years  I  have  dwelt  within  the  city, 
safe  and  respected  ,  even  by  the  Moslemin  5  verily  and  be- 
cause I  have  purchased  ,  with  jewels  and  treasure ,  the  pro- 
tection of  the  king  and  the  great  men.  But  now ,  alas !  in 
the  sudden  wrath  of  the  heathen  —  ever  imagining  vain 
things  —  I  have  been  summoned  into  the  presence  of  their 
chief  rabbi ,  and  only  escaped  the  torture ,  by  a  sum  that 
ten  years  of  labour  and  the  sweat  of  wiy  brow  cannot  re- 
place. Ximen!  the  bitterest  thought  of  all  is,  that  the 
frenzy  of  one  of  our  own  tribe  has  brought  this  desolation 
upon  Israel." 

"  My  lord  speaks  riddles,"  said  Ximen,  with  well-feigned 
astonishment  in  his  glassy  eyes. 

"  Why  dost  thou  wind  and  turn,  good  Ximen?"  said 
the  Jew ,  shaking  his  head-,  "  thou  knowest  well  what  my 
words  drive  at.  Thy  master  is  the  pretended  Almamen  ^ 
and  that  recreant  Israelite  (if  Israelite,  indeed  ,  still  be  one 
who  hath  forsaken  the  customs  and  the  forms  of  his  fore- 
fathers) is  he  who  hath  stirred  up  the  Jews  of  Cordova 
and  Guadix ,  and  whose  folly  hath  brought  upon  us  these 
dread  things.  Holy  Abraham  !  this  Jew  hatb  cost  me  more 
than  fiftv  Nazarenes  and  a  hundred  Moors." 


134  LEILA, 

Ximen  remained  silent^  and,  the  tongue  of  Elias  being 
loosed  by  the  recollection  of  his  sad  loss,  the  latter  con- 
tinued :  '*  At  the  first,  when  the  son  of  Issachar  reappeared, 
and  became  a  counsellor  in  the  king's  court ,  I  indeed,  who 
had  led  him  ,  then  a  child ,  to  the  synagogue  —  for  old  Is- 
sachar was  to  me  dear  as  a  brother  —  recognised  him  by 
his  eyes  and  voice  :  but  I  exulted  in  his  craft  and  conceal- 
ment ^  I  beUeved  he  would  work  mighty  things  for  his  poor 
brethren ,  and  would  obtain  ,  for  his  father's  friend ,  the 
supplying  of  the  king's  wives  and  concubines  with  raiment 
and  cloth  of  price.  But  years  have  passed  :  he  hath  not 
lightened  our  burthens  j  and  ,  by  the  madness  that  hath  of 
late  come  over  him,  heading  the  heathen  armies,  and  draw- 
ing our  brethren  into  clanger  and  death ,  he  hath  deserved 
the  curse  of  the  synagogue ,  and  the  wrath  of  our  whole 
race.  I  find ,  from  our  brethren  who  escaped  the  Inquisi- 
tion by  the  surrender  of  their  substance ,  that  his  unskilful 
and  frantic  schemes  were  the  main  pretext  for  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  righteous  under  the  Nazarene ,  and ,  again  ,  the 
same  schemes  bring  on  us  the  same  oppression  from  the 
Moor.   Accursed  be  he ,  and  may  his  name  perish !  " 

Ximen  sighed ,  but  remained  silent ,  conjecturing  to  what 
end  the  Jew  w^ould  bring  his  invectives.  He  was  not  long 
in  suspense.  After  a  pause ,  Elias  recommenced ,  in  an  al- 
tered and  more  careless  tone ,  ''  He  is  rich ,  this  son  of  Is- 
sachar—  wondrous  rich." 

"  He  has  treasures  scattered  over  half  the  cities  of  Africa 
and  the  Orient,"  said  Ximen. 

"Thou  seest ,  then ,  my  friend,  that  thy  master  hath 
doomed  me  to  a  heavy  loss.  I  possess  his  secret  ^  I  could  give 
him  up  to  the  king's  wrath  ^  I  could  bring  him  to  the  death. 
But  I  am  just  and  meek  :  let  him  pay  my  forfeiture,  and  I 
will  forego  mine  anger." 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  him,"  said  Ximen,  alarmed  at 
the  thought  of  a  repayment ,  which  might  grievously  dimi- 
nish his  own  heritage  of  x\lmaraen's  effects  in  Granada, 


OR    THE    SIEGE   OF    GRAIN  ADA.  135 

^^  But  if  I  threaten  him  with  exposure  ? " 

"  Thou  wouldst  feed  the  fishes  of  the  Darro,''  interrupted 
Ximen.  "  Nay,  even  now,  if  Almamen  learn  that  thou 
knowest  his  birth  and  race ,  tremble  I  for  thy  days  in  the 
land  will  be  numbered." 

"  Verily,"  exclaimed  the  Jew,  in  great  alarm ,  "  then 
have  I  fallen  into  the  snare  ^  for  these  lips  revealed  to  him 
that  knowledge." 

"  Then  is  the  righteous  Elias  a  lost  man ,  within  ten  days 
from  that  in  which  Almamen  returns  to  Granada.  I  know 
my  master  :  he  is  a  dread  man ,  and  blood  is  to  him  as 
water." 

"  Let  the  wicked  be  consumed! "  cried  Elias,  furiously, 
stamping  his  foot,  while  fire  flashed  from  his  dark  eyes ;  for 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  made  him  fierce.  "  Not 
from  me,  however,"  he  added,  more  calmly,  "  will  come 
his  danger.  Know  that  there  be  more  than  a  hundred  Jews 
in  this  city,  who  have  sworn  his  death  -,  Jews  who ,  flying 
hither  from  Cordova,  have  seen  their  parents  murdered 
and  their  substance  seized ,  and  who  behold,  in  the  son  of 
Issachar,  the  cause  of  the  murder  and  the  spoil.  They  have 
detected  the  impostor,  and  a  hundred  knives  are  whetting 
even  now  for  his  blood  :  let  him  look  to  it.  Ximen ,  I  have 
spoken  to  thee  as  the  foolish  speak  j  thou  mayst  betray  me 
to  thy  lord  ^  but ,  from  what  I  have  learned  of  thee  from 
our  brethren ,  I  have  poured  my  heart  into  thy  bosom  with- 
out fear.  Wilt  thou  betray  Israel ,  or  assist  us  to  smite  the 
traitor?" 

Ximen  mused  a  moment,  and  his  meditation  conjured 
up  the  treasures  of  his  master.  He  stretched  forth  his  right 
hand  to  Elias  ^  and ,  when  the  Israelites  parted ,  they  were 
friends. 


136  LEIL4., 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BOABDIL'S  RETUR:S.  —  the  REAPPEARA:!iCE  OF  FERDINAND  BEFORE  GRANADA. 

The  third  morning  from  this  interview,  a  rumour  reached 
Granada  that  Boabdil  had  been  repulsed  in  his  assault  on 
the  citadel  of  Salobrena  with  a  severe  loss  •,  that  Hernando 
del  Pulgar  had  succeeded  in  conducting  to  its  relief  a  con- 
siderable force  ^  and  that  the  army  of  Ferdinand  was  on  its 
march  against  the  Moorish  king.  In  the  midst  of  the  exci- 
tement occasioned  by  these  reports ,  a  courier  arrived  to 
confirm  their  truth ,  and  to  announce  the  return  of  Boabdil. 

At  night-fall,  the  king,  preceding  his  army,  entered  the 
city,  and  hastened  to  bury  himself  in  the  Alhambra.  As 
he  passed ,  dejectedly,  into  the  women's  apartments ,  his 
stern  mother  met  him. 

"My  son,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "dost  thou  return,  and 
not  a  conqueror?" 

Before  Boabdil  could  reply,  a  light  and  rapid  step  sped 
through  the  gUttering  arcades ;  and,  weeping  with  joy,  and 
breaking  all  the  oriental  restraints ,  Amine  fell  upon  his 
bosom.  "  My  beloved !  my  king !  light  of  mine  eyes !  thou 
hast  returned.  Welcome — for  thou  art  safe." 

The  different  form  of  these  several  salutations  struck 
Boabdil  forcibly.  "Thouseest,  my  mother,"  said  he,  "how 
great  the  contrast  between  those  who  love  us  from  affec- 
tion ,  and  those  who  love  us  from  pride.  In  adversity,  God 
keep  me ,  O  my  mother,  from  thy  tongue  / " 

"But  I  love  thee  from  pride,  too,"  murmured  Amine; 
"and  for  that  reason  is  thine  adversity  dear  to  me,  for  it 
takes  thee  from  the  w^orld  to  make  thee  more  mine  own  : 
and  I  am  proud  of  the  afflictions  that  my  hero  shares  with 
his  slave." 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  1 3T 

"Lights  there  and  the  banquet  I"  cried  the  king,  turning 
iVom  his  haughty  mother^  "we  will  feast  and  be  merry 
while  w^e  may.  My  adored  Amine ,  kiss  me  I " 

Proud,  melancholy,,  and  sensitive,  as  he  was,  in  that 
hour  of  reverse  Boahdil  felt  no  grief :  such  balm  has  Love 
for  our  sorrows ,  wlien  its  wings  are  borrowed  from  the 
dove!  And  although  the  laws  of  the  eastern  life  confined 
to  the  narrow  walls  of  a  harem  the  sphere  of  Amine's  gentle 
influence^  although,  even  in  romance.  The  natural  com- 
pels us  to  portray  her  vivid  and  rich  colours  only  in  a  faint 
and  hasty  sketch  5  yet  still  are  left  to  the  outline  the  love- 
liest and  the  noblest  features  of  the  sex— the  spirit  to  arouse 
us  to  exertion ,  the  softness  to  console  us  in  our  fall  I 

While  Boabdil  and  the  body  of  the  army  remained  in 
the  city,  Muza ,  with  a  chosen  detachment  of  the  horse , 
scoured  the  country  to  visit  the  newly  acquired  cities ,  and 
sustain  their  courage. 

From  this  charge  he  was  recalled  by  the  army  of  Ferdi- 
nand ,  which  once  more  poured  down  into  the  Vega,  com- 
pletely devastated  its  harvests ,  and  then  swept  back  to 
consummate  the  conquests  of  the  revolted  towns.  To  this 
irruption  succeeded  an  interval  of  peace  —the  calm  before 
the  storm.  From  every  part  of  Spain  ,  the  most  chivalric 
and  resolute  of  the  Moors  ,  taking  advantage  of  the  pause 
in  the  contest ,  flocked  to  Granada  ^  and  that  city  becam.e 
the  focus  of  all  that  paganism  in  Europe  possessed  of  brave 
and  determined  spirits. 

At  length,  Ferdinand,  completing  his  conquests,  and 
having  refilled  his  treasury,  mustered  the  whole  force  of 
his  dominions  —  forty  thousand  foot  and  ten  thousand 
horse  ,  and  once  more ,  and  for  the  last  time  ,  appeared  be- 
fore the  walls  of  Granada.  A  solemn  and  prophetic  deter- 
mination filled  both  besiegers  and  besieged  :  each  felt  that 
the  crowning  crisis  was  at  hand. 


138  LEILA, 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CONFLAGRATION.  —  THE  MAJESTY  OF  AN  INDIVIDUAL  PASSION  IN  THE  MIDST 
OF  HOSTILE  THOUSANDS. 

It  was  the  eve  of  a  great  and  general  assault  upon  Gra- 
nada ,  deliberately  planned  by  the  chiefs  of  the  Christian 
army.  The  Spanish  camp  ;the  most  gorgeous  Christendom 
had  ever  known )  gradually  grew  calm  and  hushed.  The 
shades  deepened — the  stars  burned  forth  more  serene  and 
clear.  Bright ,  in  that  azure  air ,  streamed  the  silken  tents 
of  the  court ,  blazoned  with  heraldic  devices ,  and  crowned 
by  gaudy  banners ,  which  ,  filled  by  a  brisk  and  murmur- 
ing wind  from  the  mountains,  flaunted  gaily  on  their  gilded 
staves.  In  the  centre  of  the^camp  rose  the  pavilion  of  the 
queen  —  a  palace  in  itself.  Lances  made  its  columns  ^  bro- 
cade and  painted  arras ,  its  walls  ;  and  the  space  covered 
by  its  numerous  compartments  ,  would  have  contained  the 
halls  and  outworks  of  an  ordinary  castle.  The  pomp  of  that 
camp  realised  the  wildest  dreams  of  Gothic ,  coupled  with 
Oriental,  splendour  •,  something  worthy  of  a  Tasso  to  have 
imagined  ,  or  a  Beckford  to  create.  Nor  was  the  exceeding 
costliness  of  the  more  courtly  tents  lessened  in  effect  by 
those  of  the  soldiery  in  the  outskirts ,  many  of  which  were 
built  from  boughs,  still  retaining  their  leaves  — salvage  and 
picturesque  huts  ^  —  as  if ,  realising  old  legends ,  wild  men 
of  the  woods  had  taken  up  the  cross,  and  followed  the 
Christian  warriors  against  the  swarthy  followers  of  Ter- 
magauntand  Mahound.  There,  then,  extended  that  mighty 
camp  in  profound  repose ,  as  the  midnight  threw  deeper 
and  longer  shadows  over  the  sward  from  the  tented  ave- 
nues and  canvass  streets.  It  was  at  that  hour,  that  Isabel , 
in  the  most  private  recess  of  her  pavilion ,  was  employed 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.WDA.  139 

in  prayer  fgr  the  safety  of  the  king ,  and  the  issue  of  the 
Sacred  War.  Kneeling  before  the  altar  of  that  warlike  ora- 
tory ,  her  spirit  became  rapt  and  absorbed  from  earth  in 
the  intensity  of  her  devotions  ^  and  in  the  whole  camp 
( save  the  sentries) ,  the  eyes  of  that  pious  queen  were,  per- 
haps ,  the  only  ones  unclosed.  x\ll  was  profoundly  still ; 
her  guards ,  her  attendants ,  were  gone  to  rest ;  and  the 
tread  of  the  sentinel,  without  that  immense  pavilion,  was 
not  heard  through  the  silken  walls. 

It  was  then  that  Isabel  suddenly  felt  a  strong  grasp  upon 
her  shoulder  ,  as  she  still  knelt  by  the  altar.  A  faint  shriek 
burst  from  her  lips;  she  turned,  and  the  broad  curved 
knife  of  an  eastern  warrior  gleamed  close  before  her  eyes. 

"Hush!  utter  a  cry,  breathe  but  more  loudly  than  thy 
wont ,  and  ,  queen  though  thou  art,  in  the  centre  of  swarm- 
ing thousands ,  thou  diest !  " 

Such  were  the  words  that  reached  the  ear  of  the  royal 
Castilian ,  whispered  by  a  man  of  stern  and  commanding , 
though  haggard,  aspect. 

"  What  is  thy  purpose?  wouldst  thou  murder  me?"  said 
the  queen ,  trembling  ,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  ,  before  a 
mortal  presence. 

"  Fear  not;  thy  life  is  safe,  if  thou  strivest  not  to  elude 
or  to  deceive  me.  Our  time  is  short  —  answer  me.  I  am 
Almamen ,  the  Hebrew.  Where  is  the  hostage  rendered  to 
thy  hands?  I  claim  my  child.  She  is  with  thee  —  I  know 
it.  In  what  corner  of  thy  camp  ? " 

"Rude  stranger  I"  said  Isabel,  recovering  somewhat 
from  her  alarm ,  —  "  thy  daughter  is  removed  ,  I  trust,  for 
ever ,  from  thine  impious  reach.  She  is  not  within  the 
camp." 

"Lie  not,  Queen  of  Castile,"  said  Almamen,  raising 
his  knife;  "  for  days  and  weeks  I  have  tracked  thy  steps , 
followed  thy  march  ,  haunted  even  thy  slumbers  ,  though 
men  of  mail  stood  as  guards  around  them  ;  and  I  know 
that  my  daughter  has  been  with  thee.  Think  not  I  brave 


140  LEILA  , 

this  danger  without  resolves  the  most  fierce  atid  dread. 
Answer  me  !  where  is  my  child  ? " 

"  Many  days  since,"  said  Isabel,  awed,  despite  herself, 
by  her  strange  position ,— "  thy  daughter  left  the  camp  for 
the  house  of  God.  It  was  her  own  desire.  The  Saviour 
hath  received  her  into  his  fold." 

Had  a  thousand  lances  pierced  his  heart ,  the  vigour  and 
energy  of  life  could  scarce  more  suddenly  have  deserted 
Almamen.  The  rigid  muscles  of  his  countenance  relaxed  at 
once,  from  resolve  and  menace,  into  unutterable  horror, 
anguish',  and  despair.  He  recoiled  several  steps :  his  knees 
trembled  violenty,  he  seemed  stunned  by  a  death-blow. 
Isabel ,  the  boldest  and  haughtiest  of  her  sex ,  seized  that 
moment  of  reprieve  ^  she  sprung  forward  ,  darted  through 
the  draperies  into  the  apartments  occupied  by  her  train , 
and ,  in  a  m.oment ,  the  pavilion  resounded  with  her  cries 
for  aid.  The  sentinels  were  aroused  ^  retainers  sprang  from 
their  pillows  ^  they  heard  the  cause  of  the  alarm  5  they  made 
to  the  spot  •,  when  ,  ere  they  reached  its  partition  of  silk ,  a 
vivid  and  startling  blaze  burst  forth  upon  them.  The  tent 
was  on  fire.  The  materials  fed  the  flame  like  magic.  Some 
of  the  guards  had  yet  the  courage  to  dash  forward  •,  but  the 
smoke  and  the  glare  drove  them  back ,  blinded  and  dizzy. 
Isabel  herself  had  scarcely  time  for  escape ,  so  rapid  was  the 
conflagration.  Alarmed  for  her  husband ,  she  rushed  to  his 
tent  —  to  find  him  already  awakened  by  the  noise,  and 
issuing  from  its  entrance ,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand. 
The  wind  ,  which  had  a  few  minutes  before  but  curled  the 
triumphant  banners,  now  circulated  the  destroying  flame. 
It  spread  from  tent  to  tent,  almost  as  a  flash  of  hghtning 
that  shoots  along  close-neighbouring  clouds.  The  camp  was 
in  one  blaze ,  ere  any  man  could  even  dream  of  checking 
the  conflagration. 

Not  waiting  to  hear  the  confused  tale  of  his  royalconsort, 
Ferdinand ,  exclaiming ,"  The  Moors  have  done  this— they 
will  be  on  usi "  ordered  the  drums  to  beat  and  the  trumpets 


OR    THE   SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  l4l 

to  sound  ,  and  hastened  in  person ,  ^^Tapped  merely  in  his 
long  mantle  .  to  alarm  his  chiefs.  ^Vhile  that  well-disciplined 
and  veteran  army,  fearing  every  moment  the  rally  of  the  foe, 
endeavoured  rapidly  to  form  themselves  into  some  kind  of 
order,  the  flame  continued  to  spread  till  the  whole  heavens 
presented  an  illumination  ,  the  intense  and  dazzling  splen- 
dour of  which  even  a  Dante  might  be  unable  to  describe. 
P)V  its  light .  cuirass  and  helmet  glowed ,  as  in  the  furnace, 
and  the  armed  men  seemed  rather  like  life-like  and  lurid 
meteors  than  human  forms.  The  city  of  Granada  was 
brought  near  to  them  by  the  intensity  of  the  glow :  and  ,  as 
a  detachment  of  cavalry  spurred  from  the  camp  to  meet  the 
anticipated  surprise  of  the  Paynims ,  they  saw,  upon  the 
walls  and  roofs  of  Granada,  the  Moslems  clustering,  and 
their  spears  gleaming.  But ,  equally  amazed  with  the  Christ- 
ians ,  the  Moors  did  not  issue  from  their  gates.  Meanwhile 
the  conflagration  .  as  rapid  to  die  as  to  begin ,  grew  fitful 
and  feeble  ;  and  the  night  seemed  to  fall  with  a  melancholy 
darkness  over  the  ruin  of  that  silken  city. 

Ferdinand  summoned  his  council.  He  had  now  perceived 
it  was  no  ambush  of  the  Moors.  The  account  of  Isabel , 
which  ,  at  last ,  he  comprehended  :  the  strange  and  ahnost 
miraculous  manner  in  which  Almamen  had  baffled  his 
guards,  and  penetrated  to  the  royal  tent,  might  have  arous- 
ed his  gothic  superstition ,  while  it  relieved  his  more  earthly 
apprehensions ,  if  he  had  not  remembered  the  singular,  but 
far  from  supernatural ,  dexterity  with  which  eastern  war- 
riors, and  even  robbers  ,  continued ,  then  as  now  ,  to  elude 
the  most  vigilant  precautions ,  and  baffle  the  most  wakeful 
guards  :  and  it  was  evident ,  that  the  fire  which  burned  the 
camp  of  an  army,  had  been  kindled  merely  to  gratify  the 
revenge  ,  or  favour  the  escape  ,  of  an  individual.  Shaking , 
therefore .  from  his  kingly  spirit  the  thrill  of  superstitious 
awe  that  the  greatness  of  the  disaster,  when  associated  with 
the  name  of  a  sorcerer,  at  first  occasioned ,  he  resolved  to 
make  advantage  out  of  misfortune  itself.   The  excitement , 


142  LEILA, 

the  wrath  of  the  troops ,  produced  the  temper  most  fit  for 
action. 

"And  God,"  said  the  king  of  Spain  to  his  knights  and 
chiefs ,  as  they  assembled  round  him ,  "  has ,  in  this  confla- 
gration ,  announced  to  the  warriors  of  the  cross ,  that  hence- 
forth their  camp  shall  be  the  palaces  of  Granada !  Wo  to 
the  Moslem  with  to-morrow's  sun! " 

Arms  clanged ,  and  swords  leaped  from  their  sheaths ,  as 
the  Christian  knights  echoed  the  anathema —"Wo  to  the 
Moslem!" 


OR   THE   SIEGE   OF   GRANADA.  H.*^ 


BOOK   V. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  GREAT  BATTLE. 


The  day  slowly  dawned  upon  that  awful  night ;  and  the 
Moors ,  still  upon  the  battlements  of  Granada ,  beheld  the 
whole  army  of  Ferdinand  on  its  march  towards  their  walls. 
At  a  distance  lay  the  wrecks  of  the  blackened  and  smoul- 
dering camp  ^  while  before  them ,  gaudy  and  glittering 
pennons  waving ,  and  trumpets  sounding ,  came  the 
exultant  legions  of  the  foe.  The  Moors  could  scarcely 
believe  their  senses.  Fondly  anticipating  the  retreat  of 
the  Christians,  after  so  signal  a  disaster,  the  gay  and  daz- 
zling spectacle  of  their  march  to  the  assault  filled  them  with " 
consternation  and  alarm. 

While  yet  wondering  and  inactive ,  the  trumpet  of 
Boabdil  was  heard  b^ind  ^  and  they  beheld  the  Moorish 
king ,  at  the  head  of  his  guards,  emerging  down  the  ave- 
nues that  led  to  the  gate.  The  sight  restored  and  exhila- 
rated the  gazers  ^  and ,  when  Boabdil  halted  in  the  space 
before  the  portals ,  the  shout  of  twenty  thousand  warriors 
rolled  ominously  to  the  ears  of  the  advancing  Christians. 

"  Men  of  Granada !  "  said  Boabdil,  as  soon  as  the  deep 
and  breathless  silence  had  succeeded  to  that  martial  accla- 
mation ,  —  "the  advance  of  the  enemy  is  to  their  destruc- 
tion I  In  the  fire  of  last  night ,  the  hand  of  Allah  wrote 
their  doom.  Let  us  forth,  each  and  all  I  We  will  leave  our 
homes  unguarded  —  our  hearts  shall  be  their  wall  I    True, 


144  LEILA  , 

that  our  numbefs  are  thinned  by  famine  and  by  slaughter, 
but  enough  of  us  are  yet  left  for  the  redemption  of  Granada. 
Nor  are  the  dead  departed  from  us  :  the  dead  fight  with 
us  — their  souls  animate  our  own!  He  who  has  lost  a 
brother,  becomes  twice  a  man.  On  this  battle  we  will  set 
all.  Liberty  or  chains  !  empire  or  exile  !  victory  or  death! 
Forward  I " 

He  spoke,  and  gave  the  rein  to  his  barb.  It  bounded 
forward ,  and  cleared  the  gloomy  arch  of  the  portals ,  and 
Boabdil  el  Chico  was  the  first  Moor  who  issued  from  Gra- 
nada, to  that  last  and  eventful  field.  Out ,  then ,  poured , 
as  a  river  that  rushes  from  caverns  into  day,  the  burnished 
and  serried  files  of  the  3Ioorish  cavalry.  Muza  came  the 
last ,  closing  the  array.  Upon  his  dark  and  stern  counte- 
nance there  spoke  not  the  ardent  enthusiasm  of  the  sanguine 
king.  It  was  locked  and  rigid  •,  and  the  anxieties  of  the  last 
dismal  weeks  had  thinned  his  cheeks,  and  ploughed  deep 
lines  around  the  firm  lips  and  iron  jaw  which  bespoke  the 
obstinate  and  unconquerable  resolution  of  his  character. 

As  Muza  now  spurred  forward ,  and,  riding  along  the 
wheeling  ranks ,  marshalled  them  in  order,  arose  the  ac- 
"  clamafion  of  female  voices  ,  and  the  warriors ,  who  looked 
back  at  the  sound ,  saw  that  their  women — their  wives  and 
daughters,  their  mothers  and  their  beloved  (released  from 
their  seclusion ,  by  a  policy  which  bespoke  the  desperation 
of  the  cause)  —  were  gazing  at* them,  with  outstretched 
arms ,  from  the  battlements  and  towers.  The  Moors  felt 
that  they  were  now  to  fight  for  their  hearths  and  altars  in 
the  presence  of  those  who ,  if  they  failed ,  became  slaves 
and  harlots  ^  and  each  Moslem  felt  his  heart  harden  like  the 
steel  of  his  own  sabre. 

While  the  cavalry  formed  themselves  into  regular  squa- 
drons, and  the  tramp  of  the  foemen  came  more  near  and 
near,  the  Moorish  infantry,  in  miscellaneous,  eager  and 
undisciplined  bands,  poured  out,  until,  spreading  wide  and 
deep  below  the  walls ,  Boabdil's  charger  was  seen ,  rapidly 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRAXADA.  145 

careering  amongst  them,  as,4n,short  but  distinct  directions, 
or  fiery  adjuration,  he  sought  at  once  to  regulate  their 
movements,  and  confirm  their  hot  but  capricious  valour. 

Meanwhile ,  the  Christians  had  abruptly  halted  \  and  the 
politic  Ferdinand  resolved  not  to  incur  the  full  brunt  of  a 
whole  population,  in  the  first  flush  of  their  enthusiasm  and 
despair.  He  summoned  to  his  side  Hernando  del  Pulgar, 
and  bade  him ,  with  a  troop  of  the  most  adventurous  and 
practised  horsemen,  advance  towards  the  Moorish  cavalry, 
and  endeavour  to  dfaw  the  fiery  valour  of  Muza  away  from 
the  main  army.  Then  ,  spHtting  up  his  force  into  several 
sections ,  he  dismissed  each  to  difl'erent  stations  ^  some  to 
storm  the  adjacent  towers ,  others  to  fire  the  surrounding 
gardens  and  orchards  :  so  that  the  action  might  consist 
rather  of  many  battles  than  of  one ,  and  the  Moors  might 
lose  the  concentration  and  union,  which  made ,  at  present 
their  most  formidable  strength. 

Thus  while  the  Mussulmans  were  waiting,  in  order,  for 
the  attack,  they  suddenly  beheld  the  main  body  of  the  Christ- 
ians dispersing  ;  and ,  while  yet  in  surprise  and  perplexed , 
they  saw  the  fires  breaking  out  from  their  delicious  gardens, 
to  the  right  and  left  of  the  walls,  and  heard  the  boom  of  the 
Christian  artillery  against  the  scattered  bulwarks  that 
guarded  the  approaches  of  that  city. 

At  that  moment ,  a  cloud  of  dust  rolled  rapidly  towards 
the  post  occupied  in  the  van  by  Muza^  and  the  shock  of 
the  Christian  knights ,  in  their  mighty  mail ,  broke  upon 
the  centre  of  the  prince's  squadron. 

Higher,  by  several  inches ,  than  the  plumage  of  his  com- 
panions, waved  the  crest  of  the  gigantic  Del  Pulgar  5  and , 
as  Moor  after  Moor  went  down  before  his  headlong  lance, 
his  voice  ,  sounding  deep  and  sepulchral  through  his  vi- 
zor, shouted  out—  ''  Death  to  the  infidel  I " 

The  rapid  and. dexterous  horsemen  of  Granada  were 
not,  however,  discomfited  by  this  fierce  assault  :  opening 
their  ranks  with,  extraordinary  celerity,  they  suffered  the 

10 


HG  LEILA, 

chaige  to  pass ,  comparatiyefy  harmless ,  through  their 
centre  •,  and  then  ,  closing  in  one  long  and  bristling  line , 
cut  off  the  knights  from  retreat.  The  Christians  wheeled 
round,  and  charged  again  upon  their  foe. 

"  Where  art  thou,  O  Moslem  dog  I  that  wouldst  play  the 
lion?  —  Where  art  thou,Muza  Ren  Abil  Gazan?" 

"  Before  thee ,  Christian  I  "  cried  a  stern  and  clear  voice  i 
and,  from' amongst  the  helmets  of  his  people,  gleamed  the 
dazzling  turban  of  the  Moor. 

Hernando  checked  his  steed,  gazed  a  moment  at  his  foe, 
turned  back,  for  greater  impetus  to  his  charge,  and,  in  a 
moment  more  ,  the  bravest  warriors  of  the  two  armies  met, 
lance  to  lance. 

The  round  shield  of  Muza  received  the  Christian's  wea- 
pon-, his  own  spear  shivered,  harmless ,  upon  the  breast  of 
the  giant.  He  drew  his  sword,  whirled  it  rapidly  over  his 
head,  and  ,  for  some  minutes ,  the  eyes  of  the  bystanders 
could  scarcely  mark  the  marvellous  rapidity  with  which 
strokes  were  given  and  parried  ,  by  those  redoubted 
swordsmen. 

At  length,  Hernando ,  anxious  to  bring  to  bear  his  su- 
perior strength  ,  spurred  close  to  Muza  •,  and  leaving  his 
sword  pendant  by  a  thong  to  his  wrist ,  seized  the  shield 
of  Muza  in  his  formidable  grasp,  and  plucked  it  away, 
with  a  force  that  the  Moor  vainly  endeavoured  to  resist  : 
Muza,  therefore,  suddenly  released  his  hold  :  and,  here  the 
Spaniard  recovered  his  balance  ( which  was  lost  by  the  suc- 
cess of  his  own  strength  ,  put  forth  to  the  utmost ) ,  he 
dashed  upon  him  the  hoofs  of  his  black  charger,  and,  with 
a  short  but  heavy  mace,  which  he  caught  up  from  the 
saddle-bow,  dealt  Hernando  so  thundering  a  blow  upon  the 
helmet ,  that  the  giant  fell  to  the  ground ,  stunned  and 
senseless. 

To  dismount,  to  repossess  himself  of  his  shield,  to  resume 
his  sabre ,  to  put  one  knee  to  the  breast  of  his  fallen  foe , 
was  the  work  of  a  moment ;  and  then  had  Don  Hernando 


UR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  l47 

del  Pulgar  been  sped,  without  priest  or  surgeon,  but  that , 
alarmed  by  the  peril  of  their  most  valiant  comrade,  twenty 
knights  spurred  at  once  to  the  rescue ,  and  the  points  of 
twenty  lances  kept  the  Lion  of  Granada  from  his  prey. 
Thither,  with  similar  speed ,  rushed  the  Moorish  cham- 
pions ^  and  the  fight  became  close  and  deadly  round  the 
body  of  the  still  unconscious  Christian.  Not  an  instant  of 
leisure  to  unlace  the  helmet  of  Hernando  ,  by  removing 
which,  alone,  the  Moorish  blade  could  find  a  mortal  place, 
was  permitted  to  Muza^  and,  what  with  the  spears  and 
trampling  hoofs  around  him  ,  the  situation  of  the  Paynim 
was  more  dangerous  than  that  of  the  Christian.  Mean- 
while ,  Hernando  recovered  his  dizzy  senses ;  and  ,  made 
aware  of  his  state ,  watched  his  occasion ,  and  suddenly 
shook  off  the  knee  of  the  Moor.  With  another  effort  he 
was  on  his  feet :  and  the  two  champions  stood  comfronting 
each  other,  neither  very  eager  to  renew  the  combat.  But 
on  foot,  Muza ,  daring  and  rash  as  he  was ,  could  not  but 
recognise  his  disadvantage  against  the  enormous  strength 
and  impenetrable  armour  of  the  Christian  ^  he  drew  back , 
whistled  to  his  barb,  that ,  piercing  the  ranks  of  the  horse- 
men, w^as  by  his  side  on  the  instant ,  remounted ,  and  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  foe,  almost  ere  the  slower  Spaniard  was 
conscious  of  his  disappearance. 

But  Hernando  was  not  delTvered  from  his  enemy.  Clear- 
ing a  space  around  him,  as  three  knights,  mortally  w^ounded, 
fell  beneath  his  sabre ,  Muza  now  drew  from  behind  his 
shoulder  his  short  Arabian  bow  \  and  shaft  after  shaft  came 
rattling  upon  the  mail  of  the  dismounted  Christian  with  so 
marvellous  a  celerity,  that,  encumbered  as  he  was  with  his 
heavy  accoutrements ,  he  was  unable  either  to  escape  from 
the  spot,  or  ward  off  that  arrowy  rain  ^  and  felt  that  no- 
thing but  chance ,  or  our  Lady ,  could  prevent  the  death 
which  one  such  arrow  would  occasion ,  if  it  should  find  tlie 
opening  o;'  the  vizor ,  or  the  joints  of  the  hauberk. 

"  Mother  Of  mercy !"  groaned  the  knight,  perplexed  and 


148  LEILA, 

enraged ,  'Met  not  thy  servant  be  shot  down  like  a  hart ,  by 
this  cowardly  warfare  ;  but ,  if  I  must  fall ,  be  it  with  mine 
enemy ,  grappling  hand  to  hand." 

While  yet  muttering  this  short  invocation ,  the  war-cry 
of  Spain  was  heard  hard  by ,  and  the  gallant  company  of 
Viilena  was  seen  scouring  across  the  plain,  to  the  succour  of 
their  comrades.  The  deadly  attention  of  Muza  was  dis- 
tracted from  individual  foes,  however  eminent  -,  he  wheeled 
round  ,  recollected  his  men ,  and ,  in  a  serried  charge ,  met 
the  new  enemy  in  midway. 

While  the  contest  thus  fared  in  that  part  of  the  field , 
the  scheme  of  Ferdinand  had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  break 
up  the  battle  into  detached  sections.  Far  and  near ,  plain , 
grove ,  garden  ,  tower ,  presented  each  the  scene  of  obsti- 
nate and  determined  conflict.  Boabdil ,  at  the  head  of  his 
chosen  guard  ,  the  flower  of  the  haughtier  tribe  of  nobles , 
who  were  jealous  of  the  fame  and  blood  of  the  tribe  of 
Muza  ,  and,  followed  also  by  his  gigantic  Ethiopians  ,  ex- 
posed his  person  to  every  peril,  with  the  desperate  valour 
of  a  man  who  feels  his  own  stake  is  greatest  in  the  field. 
As  he  most  distrusted  the  infantry ,  so ,  amongst  the  in- 
fantry he  chiefly  bestowed  his  presence  \  and  ,  wherever  he 
appeared,  he  sufliced,  for  the  mom.ent,  to  turn  the  chances 
of  the  engagement.  At  length ,  at  mid-day,  Ponce  de  Leon 
led  against  the  largest  detacfiment  of  the  Moorish  foot  a 
strong  and  numerous  battalion  of  the  best  disciplined  and 
veteran  soldiery  of  Spain.  He  had  succeeded  in  winning  a 
fortress ,  from  which  his  artillery  could  play  with  effect ; 
and  the  troops  he  led  were  composed,  partly  of  men  flushed 
with  recent  triumph,  and  partly  of  a  fresh  reserve,  now 
first  brought  into  the  field.  A  comely  and  a  breathless 
spectacle  it  was  ,  to  behold  this  Christian  squadron  emerg- 
ing from  a  blazing  copse ,  which  they  fired  on  their  march ; 
the  red  fight  gleaming  on  their  complete  armour,  as,  in 
steady  and  solemn  order,  they  swept  on  to  the  swaying 
and  clamorous  ranks  of  the  Moorish  infantry.   Boabdii 


OR    THE    Sii:c;E    OF    GRANADA.  149 

learned  the  danger  from  liis  scouts;  and,  hastily  quitting 
a  tower,  from  which  he  had.  for  awhile,  repulsed  a  hos- 
tile legion ,  he  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  hatta- 
lions,  menaced  by  the  skilful  Ponce  de  Leon.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment ,  the  wild  and  ominous  apparition  of  Al- 
mamen ,  long  absent  from  the  eyes  of  the  Moors,  appeared 
in  the  same  quarter,  so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  that 
none  knew  whence  he  had  emerged  \  the  sacred  standard 
in  his  left  hand — his  sabre,  bared  and  dripping  gore,  in 
his  right  —  his  face  exposed ,  and  its  powerful  features 
w^orking  with  an  excitement  that  seemed  inspired  :  his 
abrupt  presence  breathed  a  new  soul  into  the  Moors. 

"They  come  I  they  come  I"  he  shrieked  aloud.  "The 
God  of  the  East  hath  delivered  the  Goth  into  your  hands  I  " 

From  rank  to  rank — from  hne  to  line — sped  the  santon  ^ 
and,  as  the  mystic  banner  gleamed  before  the  soldiery, 
each  closed  his  eyes ,  and  muttered  an  amen  to  his  adju- 
rations. 

And  now,  to  the  cry  of  Spain  and  St.  Jago ,  came  tram- 
pling down  the  relentless  charge  of  the  Christian  war.  At 
the  same  instant ,  from  the  fortress  lately  taken  by  Ponce 
de  Leon ,  the  artillery  opened  upon  the  Moors ,  and  did 
deadly  havoc.  The  Moslems  wavered  a  moment,  when  be- 
fore them  gleamed  the  white  banner  of  Almamen  \  and 
they  beheld  him  rushing,  alone  and  on  foot,  amidst  the 
foe.  Taught  to  believe  the  war  itself  depended  on  the  pre- 
servation of  the  enchanted  banner,  the  Paynims  could  not 
see  it  thus  rashly  adventured  w  ithout  anxiety  and  shame  : 
they  rallied ,  advanced  firmly,  and  Boabdil  himself,  with 
weaving  cimeter  and  fierce  exclamations,  dashed  impetuous- 
ly, at  the  head  of  his  guards  and  Ethiopians,  into  the  affray. 
The  battle  became  o*l)stinate  and  bloody.  Thrice  the  white 
banner  disappeared  amidst  the  closing  ranks ;  and  thrice , 
like  a  moon  from  the  clouds ,  it  shone  forth  again  —  the 
light  and  guide  of  the  Pagan  power.- 

The  day  ripened  ;  and  the  hills  already  cast  lengthening 


150  LEILA, 

shadows  over  the  blazing  groves  and  the  still  Darro,  whose 
waters  ,  in  every  creek  where  the  tide  was  arrested ,  ran 
red  with  blood ,  when  Ferdinand ,  collecting  his  whole  re- 
serve ,  descended  from  the  eminence  on  which  hitherto  he 
had  posted  himself.  With  him  moved  three  thousand  foot 
and  a  thousand  horse ,  fresh  in  their  vigour ,  and  panting 
for  a  share  in  that  glorious  day.  The  king  himself,  who, 
though  constitutionally  fearless  ,  from  motives  of  policy 
rarely  perilled  his  person,  save  on  imminent  occasions,  was 
resolved  not  to  be  outdone  by  Boabdil  ^  and ,  armed  cap- 
a-pie  in  mail ,  so  wrought  with  gold  that  it  seemed  nearly 
all  of  that  costly  metal  ^  with  his  snow-white  plumage  wav- 
ing above  a  small  diadem  that  surmounted  his  lofty  helm  , 
he  seemed  a  fit  leader  to  that  armament  of  heroes.  Behind 
him  flaunted  the  great  gonfalon  of  Spain  ,  and  trump  and 
cymbal  heralded  his  approach.  The  Count  de  Tendilla 
rode  by  his  side. 

"Senor,"  said  Ferdinand  ,  ''  the  infidels  fight  hard  ;  but 
they  are  in  the  snare — we  are  about  to  close  the  nets  upon 
them.  But  what  cavalcade  is  this? " 

The  group  that  thus  drew  the  king's  attention  consisted 
of  six  squires,  bearing  on  a  martial  litter,  composed  of 
shields ,  the  stalwart  form  of  Hernando  del  Pulgar. 

"  Ah ,  the  dogs  I "  cried  the  king ,  as  he  recognised  the 
pale  features  of  the  darling  of  the  army,  —  "have  they 
murdered  the  bravest  knight  that  ever  fought  for  Christen- 
dom?" 

"Not  that,  your  majesty,"  quoth  he  of  the  Exploits, 
faintly  \  "but  I  am  sorely  stricken." 

"It  must  have  been  more  than  man  who  struck  thee 
down ,"  said  the  king. 

"It  was  the  mace  of  iMuza  Ben  Abil  Gazan  ,  an  please 
you,  sire ,"  said  one  of  the  squires  j  "but  it  came  on  the 
good  knight  unawares ,  and  long  after  his  own  arm  had 
seemingly  driven  away  the  Pagan." 

"  We  will  avenge  thee  well ,"  said  the  king  ,  setting  his 


OFx    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAJVADA.  la! 

teeth  :  "let  our  own  leeches  tend  thy  wounds.  Forward  , 
sir  knights !  St.  Jago  and  Spain  I  " 

The  battle  had  now  gathered  to  a  vortex  ^  Muza  and  his 
cavalry  had  joined  Boabdil  and  the  Moorish  foot.  On  the 
other  hand ,  Villena  had  been  re-inforced  by  detachments  , 
that ,  in  almost  every  other  quarter  of  the  field,  had  routed 
the  foe.  The  Moors  had  been  driven  back,  though  inch  by 
mch  ^  they  were  now  in  the  broad  space  before  the  very 
walls  of  the  city,  which  were  still  crowded  with  the  pale 
and  anxious  faces  of  the  aged  and  the  women  :  and ,  at 
every  pause  in  the  artillery ,  the  voices  that  spake  of  home 
were  borne  by  that  lurid  air  to  the  ears  of  the  infidels.  The 
shout  that  ran  through  the  Christian  force ,  as  Ferdinand 
now  joined  it ,  struck  like  a  death-knell  upon  the  last  hope 
of  Boabdil.  But  the  blood  of  his  fierce  ancestry  burned  in 
his  veins ,  and  the  cheering  voice  of  Almamen,  whom  no- 
thing daunted ,  inspired  him  with  a  kind  of  superstitious 
frenzy. 

"  King  against  king  —  so  be  it!  let  Allah  decide  between 
us,"  cried  the  Moorish  monarch.    "  Bind  up  this  wound 

—  'tis  well  I    A  steed  for  the  santon !    Now,  my  prophet 
and  my  friend,  mount  by  the  side  of  the  king  —  let  us,  at. 
least ,  fall  together.    Lelilies !  lelilies !  " 

Throughout  the  brave  Christian  ranks  went  a  thrill  of 
reluctant  admiration,  as  they  beheld  the  Paynim  king, 
conspicuous  by  his  fair  beard  and  the  jewels  of  his  harness, 
lead  the  scanty  guard  yet  left  to  him  once  more  inlo  the 
thickest  of  their  lines.  Simultaneously,  Muza  and  his 
zegris  made  their  fiery  charge  •,  and  the  Moorish  infantry, 
excited  by  the  example  of  their  leaders,  followed  with 
unslackened  and  dogged  zeal.    The  Christians  gave  way  , 

—  they  were  beaten  back  :  Ferdinand  spurred  forward  ^ 
and,  ere  either  party  were  w^ell  aware  of  it ,  both  kings 
met  in  the  same  melee  .-  all  order  and  discipline ,  for  the 
moment,  lost,  general  and  monarch  were,  as  common 
soldiers,  fighting  hand  to  hand.    It  was  then  that  Ferdi- 


152  •  LEILA, 

nand  ,  after  bearing  down  before  his.  lance  >aim  Reduon, 
second  only  to  Muza  in  the  songs  of  Granada ,  beheld 
opposed  to  him  a  strange  form ,  that  seemed  to  that  royal 
Christian  rather  fiend  than  man  :  his  raven  hair  and  beard, 
clotted  with  blood  ,  hung  like  snakes  about  a  countenance, 
whose  features  ,  naturally  formed  to  give  expression  to 
the  darkest  passions,  were  distorted  with  the  madness  of 
despairing  rage.  "Wounded  in  many  places ,  the  blood 
dabbled  his  mail  •,  while ,  over  his  head ,  he  waved  the 
banner  wrought  with  mystic  characters  ,  which  Ferdinand 
had  already  been  taught  to  believe  the  workmanship  of 
demons. 

"  rv'ow,  perjured  king  of  the  ]\azarenes!  "  shouted  this 
formidable  champion,  "  we  meet  at  last  I  —  no  longer  host 
and  guest ,  monarch  and  dervise  ,  but  man  to  man  !  I  am 
Almamen!    Die  I"    ^ 

He  spoke  5  and  his  sw^ord  descended  so  fiercely  on  that 
anointed  head,  that  Ferdinand  bent  to  his  saddle  bow.  But 
the  king  quickly  recovered  his  seat,  and  gallantly  met 
the  encounter  ^  it  was  one  that  might  have  tasked  to  the 
utmost  the  prowess  of  his  bravest  knight.  Passions  which, 
in  their  number,  their  nature,  and  their  excess,  animated 
no  other  champion  on  either  side  ,  gave  to  the  arm  of 
Almamen ,  the  Israelite ,  a  preternatural  strength ;  his 
blows  fell  like  rain  upon  the  harness  of  the  king  :  and  the 
fiery  eyes ,  the  gleaming  banner,  of  the  mysterious  sor- 
cerer, who  had  eluded  the  tortures  of  his  Inquisition, 
—  who  had  walked  unscathed  through  the  midst  of  his 
army,— whose  single  hand  had  consumed  the  encampment 
of  a  host ,  filled  the  stout  heart  of  the  king  with  a  belief 
that  he  encountered  no.  earthly  foe.  Fortunately,  perhaps, 
for  Ferdinand  and  Spain ,  the  contest  did  not  last  long. 
Twenty  horsemen  spurred  into  the  melee  to  the  rescue  of 
the  plumed  diadem  :  Tendilla  arrived  the  first:  with  a 
stroke  of  his  two-handed  sword  the  white  banner  was  cleft 
from  its  staff,  and  fell  to  the  earth.    At  that  sight,  the 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  153 

Moors  around  broke  forth  in  a  wild  and  despairing  cry  : 
that  cry  spread  from  rank  to  rank,  from  horse  to  foot; 
the  Moorish  infantry,  sorely  pressed  on  all  sides ,  no  sooner 
learned  the  disaster  than  they  turnedtofly  :  the  rout  was  as 
fatal  as  it  was  sudden.  The  Christian  reserve,  just  brought 
into  the  field ,  poured  down  upon  them  with  a  simulta- 
neous charge.  Boabdil ,  too  much  engaged  to  be  the  first 
to  learn  the  downfal  of  the  sacred  insignia  ,  suddenly 
saw  himself  almost  alone ,  with  his  diminished  Ethiopians 
and  a  handful  of  his  cavaliers. 

"  Yield  thee,   Boabdil  el  Chicol  '  cried  Tendilla  from 
his  rear,  "  or  thou  canst  not  be  saved.  " 

''By  the  Prophet,  never!"  exclaimed  the  king:  and 
he  dashed  his  barb  against  the  wall  of  spears  behind  him  ; 
and  ,  with  but  a  score  or  so  of  his  guard ,  cut  his  way 
through  the  ranks,  that  were  not  unwilling,  perhaps,  to 
spare  so  brave  a  foe.  As  he  cleared  the  Spanish  battalions, 
the  unfortunate  monarch  checked  his  horse  for  a  moment, 
and  gazed  along  the  plain  :  he  beheld  his  army  flying  in 
all  directions  ,  save  in  that  single  spot  where  yet  glittered 
the  turban  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan.  As  he  gazed  ,  he 
heard  the  panting  nostrils  of  the  chargers  behind ,  and 
saw  the  levelled  spears  of  a  company  despatched  to  take 
him,  alive  or  dead,  by  the  command  of  Ferdinand  :  he 
laid  the  reins  upon  his  horse's  neck  and  galloped  into  the 
city — three  lances  quivered  against  the  portals  as  he  dis- 
appeared through  the  shadows  of  the  arch.  But  while  Muza 
remained ,  all  was  not  yet  lost  :  he  perceived  the  flight  of 
the  infantry  and  the  king,  and  with  his  followers  galloped 
across  the  plain  ^  he  came  in  time  to  encounter  and  slij',  to 
a  man,  the  pursuers  of  Boabdil ,— he  then  threw  himself 
before  the  flying  Moors  : 

"  Do  ye  fly  in  the  sight  of  your  wives  and  daugli^ers? 
would  ye  not  rather  they  beheld  ye  die?" 
A  thousand  voices  answered  him,—"  The  banner  is  in 


154  LEILA  , 

the  hands  of  the  inlidel— all  is  lost  I "  They  swept  by  him  , 
and  stopped  not  till  they  gained  the  gates. 

"  Accursed  be  these  spells!  "  cried  Muza.  "  Were  our 
country  our  only  charm ,  that  never  would  have  been 
lost!" 

But  still  a  small  and  devoted  remnant  of  the  Moorish  ca- 
valiers remained  to  shed  a  last  glory  over  defeat  itself. 
With  Muza ,  their  soul  and  centre ,  they  fought  every  atom 
of  ground  :  it  was ,  as  the  chronicler  expresses  it ,  as  if  they 
grasped  the  soil  with  their  arms.  Twice  they  charged  into 
the  midst  of  the  foe  :  the  slaughter  they  made  doubled  their 
own  number  ^  but ,  gathering  on  and  closing  in  ,  squadron 
upon  squadron ,  came  the  whole  Christian  army,— they 
were  encompassed ,  wearied  out ,  beaten  back ,  as  by  an 
ocean.  Like  wild  beasts ,  driven ,  at  length  ,  to  their  lair, 
they  retreated  with  their  faces  to  the  foe  •,  and  when  Muza 
came ,  the  last ,— his  cimeter  shivered  to  the  hilt,— he  had 
scarcely  breath  to  command  the  gates  to  be  closed  and  the 
portcullis  lowered ,  ere  he  fell  from  his  charger  in  a  sudden 
and  deadly  swoon ,  caused  less  by  his  exhaustion  than  his 
agony  and  shame.  So  ended  the  last  battle  fought  for  the 
Monarchy  of  Granada ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   NOVICE. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  cells  of  a  convent ,  renowned  for  the 
piet^of  its  inmates,  and  the  wholesome  austerity  of  its 
laws,  that  a  young  novice  sat  alone.  The  narrow  casement 
was  placed  so  high  in  the  cold  gray  wall  as  to  forbid  to  the 
tenant  of  the  cell  the  solace  of  sad  ,  or  the  distraction  of 
pious,  thoughts  ,  which  a  view  of  the  world  without  might 
atTord.   Lovely  ,  indeed ,  was  the  landscape  that  spread 


OR    THE    SlKGi:    OF    GRANADA.  *        15.") 

below  ;  but  it  was  barred  from  those  youthful  and  melan- 
clioly  eyes :  for  jVature  might  tempt  to  a  thousand  thoughts, 
not  of  a  tenor  calculated  to  reconcile  the  heart  to  an  eternal 
sacrifice  of  the  sweet  human  ties.  But  a  faint  and  partial 
gleam  of  sunshine  broke  through  the  aperture ,  and  made 
yet  more  cheerless  the  dreary  aspect  and  gloomy  appur- 
tenances of  the  cell.  And  the  young  novice'seemed  to  carry 
on  within  herself  that  struggle  of  emotions,  v/ithout  which 
there  is  no  victory  in  the  resolves  of  virtue  :  sometimes  she 
wept  bitterly ,  but  with  a  low  subdued  sorrow  ,  which  spoke 
rather  of  despondency  than  passion :  sometimes  she  raised 
her  head  from  her  breast ,  and  smiled  as  she  looked  up- 
ward ,  or  as  her  eyes  rested  on  the  crucifix  and  the  death's 
head ,  that  were  placed  on  the  rude  table  by  the  pallet  on 
which  she  sate.  They  were  emblems  of  death  here,  and  life 
hereafter,  which,  perhaps,  afforded  to  her  the  sources  of  a 
twofold  consolation. 

She  was  yet  musing  ,  when  a  slight  tap  at  the  door  was 
heard,  and  the  abbess  of  the  convent  appeared. 

"  Daughter,"  said  she, "  I  have  brought  thee  the  comfort 
of  a  sacred  visitor.  The  Queen  of  Spain ,  whose  pious  ten- 
derness is  maternally  anxious  for  thy  full  contentment  with 
thy  lot,  has  sent  hither  a  holy  friar,  whom  she  deems  more 
soothing  in  his  counsels  than  our  brother  Tomas ,  whose 
ardent  zeal  often  terrifies  those  whom  his  honest  spirit 
only  desires  to  purify  and  guide.  I  will  leave  him  with  thee. 
May  the  saints  bless  his  ministry  I  "  So  saying,  the  abbess 
retired  from  the  threshold ,  making  way  for  a  form  in  the 
garb  of  a  monk ,  with  the  hood  drawn  over  the  face.  The 
monk  bowed  his  head  meekly ,  advanced  into  the  cell . 
closed  the  door,  and  seated  himself  on  a  stool ,  which,  save 
the  table  and  the  pallet ,  seemed  the  sole  furniture  of  the 
dismal  chamber. 

"  Daughter , "  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  it  is  a  rugged  and 
a  mournful  lot ,  this  renunciation  of  earth  and  all  its  fair 
tlestinies  and  soft  affections  ,  to  one  not  wholly  piepared 


156  LEILA, 

and  armed  for  the  sacrifice.  Confide  in  me  ,  my  cliild  ^  I 
am  no  dire  inquisitor  ,  seeking  to  distort  thy  words  to  thine 
own  peril.  I  am  no  bitter  and  morose  ascetic.  Beneath 
these  robes  still  beats  a  human  heart ,  that  can  sympathise 
with  human  sorrows.  Confide  in  me  without  fear.  Dost 
thou  not  dread  the  fate  they  would  force  upon  thee  ?  Dost 
thou  not  shrink  back ?  Wouldst  thou  not  be  free? " 

"  iNo,  "  said  the  poor  novice  ^  but  the  denial  came  faint 
and  irresolute  from  her  lips. 

"Pause,"  said  the  friar,  growing  more  earnest  in  his 
tone  :  "pause  —  there  is  yet  time.  " 

"  Nay ,"  said  the  novice,  looking  up  with  some  surprise 
in  her  countenance 5  "  nay,  even  were  I  so  w^ak,  escape 
now  is  impossible.  ^\  hat  hand  could  unbar  the  gates  of 
the  convent?" 

"  Mine  I"  cried  the  monk,  with  impetuosity.  "Yes,  I 
have  that  power.  In  all  Spain ,  but  one  man  can  save  thee , 
and  1  am  he. " 

"  You ! "  faltered  the  novice,  gazing  at  her  strange  visitor 
with  mingled  astonishment  and  alarm.  "  And  who  are  you, 
that  could  resist  the  fiat  of  that  Tomas  de  Torquemada , 
before  whom ,  they  tell  me ,  even  the  crowned  heads  of 
Castile  and  Arragon  vail  low?" 

The  monk  half  rose  ,  with  an  impatient  and  almost 
haughty  start,  at  this  interrogatory^  but  reseating  himself, 
replied,  in  a  deep  and  half-whispered  voice  :  "Daughter, 
listen  to  me !  It  is  true ,  that  Isabel  of  Spain  (whom  the 
Mother  of  mercy  bless !  for  merciful  to  all  is  her  secret 
heart,  if  not  her  outward  policy)  —  it  is  true  that  Isabel  of 
Spain ,  fearful  that  the  path  to  heaven  might  be  made 
rougher  to  thy  feet  than  it  well  need  be,  (there  was  a  slight 
accent  of  irony  in  the  monk's  voice  as  he  thus  spoke),  se- 
lected a  friar  of  suasive  eloquence  and  gentle  manners  ,  to 
visit  thee.  He  was  charged  with  letters  to  yon  abbess  from 
the  queen.  Soft  though  the  friar  ,  he  was  yet  a  hypocrite. 
•Nay ,  hear  me  out  I  he  loved  to  worship  the  rising  sun ;  and 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.NADA.  1,">7 

he  did  not  wish  always  to  remain  a  simple  friar,  while  the 
church  had  higher  dignities  of  this  earth  to  hestow.  In  the 
Christian  camp ,  daughter,  there  was  one  who  hurned  for 
tidings  of  thee ,  —  whom  thine  image  haunted  —  who . 
stern  as  thou  wert  to  him ,  loved  thee  with  a  love  he  knew 
not  of,  till  thou  wert  lost  to  him.  Why  dost  thou  tremble , 
daughter  ?  listen ,  yet  I  I'o  that  lover ,  for  he  was  one  of 
high  birth  ,  came  the  monk:  to  that  lover  the  monk  sold 
his  mission.  The  monk  will  have  a  ready  tale,  that  he  was 
way-laid  amidst  the  mountains  by  armed  men,  and  robbed 
of  his  letters  to  the  abbess.  The  lover  took  his  garb,  and 
he  took  the  letters  :  and  he  hastened  hither.  Leila !  beloved 
Leila !  behold  him  at  thy  feet  I  " 

The  monk  raised  his  cowl ;  and  ,  dropping  on  his  knee 
beside  her,  presented  to  her  gaze  the  features  of  the  Prince 
of  Spain. 

"You  I"  said  Leila,  averting  her  countenance,  and 
vainly  endeavouring  to  extricate  the  hand  which  he  had 
seized.  This  is  indeed  cruel.  You  .  the  author  of  so  many 
sufferings —  such  calumny — such  reproach  I  " 

"  I  will  repair  all  ,*'  said  Don  Juan,  fervently.  "  I  alone, 
I  repeat  it ,  have  the  power  to  set  you  free.  You  are  no 
longer  a  Jewess;  you  are  one  of  our  faith  ;  there  is  now  no 
bar  upon  our  loves.  Imperious  though  my  father, — all 
dark  and  dread  as  is  this  new  power  which  he  is  rashly 
erecting  in  his  dominions,  the  heir  of  two  monarchies  is 
not  so  poor  in  intluence  and  in  friends ,  as  to  be  unable  to 
offer  the  woman  of  his  love  an  inviolable  shelter,  alike  from 
priest  and  despot.  Fly  with  me  I — quit  this  dreary  se- 
pulchre ,  ere  the  last  stone  close  over  thee  for  ever !  1  have 
horses,!  have  guards  at  hand.  This  night  it  can  be  arrang- 
ed. This  night— oh  ,  bliss  I — thou  mayest  be  rendered  up 
to  earth  and  love  1  ' 

"Prince,"  said  Leila,  who  had  drawn  herself  from 
Juan's  grasp  during  this  address ,  and  who  now  stood  at  a 
little  distance^  erect  and  proud  ,  '*  you  tempt  me  in  vain  ^ 


158  .  LEILA , 

or,  rather,  you  offer  me  no  temptation.  I  have  made  my 
choice;  I  abide  by  it." 

•"  Oh !  bethink  thee ,"  said  the  prince ,  in  a  voice  of  real 
and  imploring  anguish  ;  "  bethink  thee  well  of  the  conse- 
quences of  thy  refusal.  Thou  canst  not  see  them  yet;  thine 
ardour  blinds  thee.  But ,  when  hour  after  hour,  day  after 
day,  year  after  year,  steals  on  in  the  appalling  monotony  of 
this  sanctified  prison  5  when  thou  shalt  see  thy  youth 
withering  without  love — thine  age  without  honour-,  when 
thy  heart  shall  grow  as  stone  within  thee,  beneath  the  looks 
of  yon  icy  spectres ;  when  nothing  shall  vary  the  aching 
dulness  of  wasted  life,  save  a  longer  fast,  or  a  severer 
penance :  then ,  then  will  thy  grief  be  rendered  tenfold , 
by  the  despairing  and  remorseful  thought ,  that  thine  own 
lips  sealed  thine  own  sentence.  Thou  mayest  think ,"  con- 
tinued Juan  ,  with  rapid  eagerness ,  "  that  my  love  to  thee 
was,  at  first,  light  and  dishonouring.  Be  it  so.  I  own  that 
my  youth  has  passed  in  idle  wooings  ,  and  the  mockeries 
of  affection.  But ,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life ,  I  feel  that  J 
loi^e.  Thy  dark  eyes— thy  noble  beauty  -  even  thy  womanly 
scorn ,  have  fascinated  me.  I — never  yet  disdained  where  1 
have  been  a  suitor — acknowledge ,  at  last ,  that  there  is  a 
triumph  in  the  conquest  of  a  woman's  heart.  Oh  ,  Leila  I 
jq  not — do  not  reject  me.  You  know  not  how  rare  and  how 
deep  a  love  you  cast  away." 

The  novice  was  touched  :  the  present  language  of  Don 
Juan  was  so  different  from  what  it  had  been  before ;  the 
earnest  love  that  breathed  in  his  voice— that  looked  from  his 
eves,  struck  a  chord  in  her  breast ;  it  reminded  her  of  her  own 
unconquered,  unconquerable  love  for  the  lost  Muza.  For 
there  is  that  in  a  woman ,  that ,  when  she  loves  one ,  the 
honest  wooing  of  another  she  may  reject ,  but  cannot  dis- 
dain :  she  feels,  by  her  own  heart,  the  agony  his  must  en- 
dure •,  and ,  by  a  kind  of  egotism ,  pities  the  mirror  of  her- 
self. She  was  touched ,  then  —  touched  to  tears ;  but  her 
resolves  were  not  shaken. 


OH    THE    SIEGE    OF    GKAXADV..  1  .M) 

'^  Oh ,  Leila  I "  resumed  the  prince ,  fondly  mistaking  the 
nature  of  her  emotion ,  and  seeking  to  pursue  the  advantage 
he  imagined  he  had  gained^  "look  at  yonder  sunbeam, 
struggling  through  the  loophole  of  thy  cell.  Is  it  not  a 
messenger  from  the  happy  world?  does  it  not  plead  for 
me?  does  it  not  whisper  to  thee  of  the  green  fields,  and 
the  laughing  vineyards ,  and  all  the  beautiful  prodigaUty 
of  that  earth  thou  art  about  to  renounce  for  ever?  Dost 
thou  dread  my  love?  Are  the  forms  around  thee,  ascetic 
and  lifeless ,  fairer  to  thine  eyes  than  mine  ?  Dost  thou 
doubt  my  power  to  protect  thee?  I  tell  thee  that  the 
proudest  nobles  of  Spain  w^ould  flock  around  my  banner, 
were  it  necessary  to  guard  thee  by  force  of  arms.  Yet, 
speak  the  word  —  be  mine  —  and  I  will  fly  hence  with  thee, 
to  climes  where  the  church  has  not  cast  out  its  deadly  roots , 
and,  forgetful  of  crowns  and  cares,  live  alone  for  thee.  Ah , 
speak  I " 

"  My  lord,"  said  Leila  ,  calmly,  and  rousing  herself  to 
the  necessary  effort^  "  I  am  deeply  and  sincerely  grateful 
for  the  interest  you  express  —  for  the  affection  you  avow. 
But  you  deceive  yourself.  I  have  pondered  well  over  the 
alternative  I  have  taken.  I  do  not  regret  nor  repent — much 
less  would  I  retract  it.  The  earth  that  you  speak  of,  full 
of  affections  and  of  bliss  to  others ,  has  no  ties ,  no  allure- 
ments for  me.  I  desire  only  peace ,  repose ,  and  an  early 
death." 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  said  the  prince,  growing  pale, 
"that  thou  lovest  another ?  Then ,  indeed ,  and  then  only , 
would  my  wooing  be  in  vain." 

The  cheek  of  the  novice  grew  deeply  flushed ,  but  the 
colour  soon  subsided  :  she  murmured  to  herself,  "Why 
should  I  blush  to  own  it  now?"  and  then  spoke  aloud  : 
"Prince,  I  trust  I  have  done  with  the  world,  and  bitter 
the  pang  I  feel  when  you  call  me  back  to  it.  But  you 
merit  my  candour  -.  I  have  loved  another ;  and  in  that 
thought,  as  in  an  urn,  lie  the  ashes  of  all  affection.  That 


160  ,  LHILA  , 

other  is  of  a  different  faith.  We  may  never  —  never  meet 
again  below,  but  it  is  a  solace  to  pray  that  we  may  meet 
above.  That  solace,  and  these  cloisters  ,  are  dearer  to  me 
than  all  the  pomp ,  all  the  pleasures  ,  of  the  world." 

The  prince  sunk  down,  and,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands ,  groaned  aloud  —  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Go,  then.  Prince  of  Spain,"  continued  the  novice  ;  "  son 
of  the  noble  Isabel ,  Leila  is  not  unworthy  of  her  cares.  Go  , 
and  pursue  the  great  destinies  that  await  you.  And  if  you 
forgive  —  if  you  still  cherish  a  thought  of  —  the  poor 
Jewish  maiden ,  soften ,  alleviate ,  mitigate  the  wretched 
and  desperate  doom  that  awaits  the  fallen  race  she  has  aban- 
doned for  thy  creed.'" 

''  Alas,  alas  I "  said  the  prince ,  mournfully,  "  thee  alone  , 
perchance,  of  all  thy  race,  I  could  have  saved  from  the 
bigotry  that  is  fast  covering  this  knightly  land ,  like  the 
rising  of  an  irresistible  sea  —  and  thou  rejectest  me  I  Take 
time ,  at  least ,  to  pause — to  consider.  Let  me  see  thee  again 
to-morrow." 

"No,  prince,  no —  not  again!  I  will  keep  thy  secret 
only  if  I  see  thee  no  more.  If  thou  persist  in  a  suit  that  I 
feel  to  be  that  of  sin  and  shame,  then,  indeed,  mine 
honour " 

"  Hold  I "  interrupted  Juan,  >vith  haughty  impatience,  — 
''  I  torment ,  I  harass  you  no  more.  I  release  you  from  my 
importunity.  Perhaps  already  I  have  stooped  too  low."  He 
drew  the  cowl  over  his  features  ,  and  strode  sullenly  to  the 
door ;  but ,  turning  for  one  last  gaze  on  the  form  that  had 
so  strangely  fascinated  a  heart  capable  of  generous  emo- 
tions ,  —  the  meek  and  despondent  posture  of  the  novice, 
her  tender  youth ,  her  gloomy  fate ,  melted  his  momentary 
pride  and  resentment.  ' '  God  bless  and  reconcile  thee,  poor 
child  I  "  he  said ,  in  a  voice  choked  with  contending  pas- 
sions—  and  the  door  closed  upon  his  form. 

"I  thank  thee,  Heaven,  that  it  was  not  Muza!  "  muttered 
Leila ,  breaking  from  a  reverie,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be 


OR    THE    SIKGE    OF    GRWADA.  161 

communing  with  her  own  soul ;  "  I  feel  that  I  could  not 
have  resisted  himy  With  that  thought  she  knelt  down , 
in  humble  and  penitent  sell-reproach  ,  and  prayed  for 
strength. 

Ere  she  had  risen  from  her  supplications ,  her  soHtude 
was  again  invaded  by  Torquemada  ,  the  Dominican. 

This  strange  man ,  though  the  author  of  cruelties  at 
which  nature  recoils  ,  had  some  veins  of  warm  and  gentle 
feeling,  streaking,  as  it  were,  the  marble  of  his  hard 
character  \  and  when  he  had  thoroughly  convinced  himself 
of  the  pure  and  earnest  zeal  of  the  young  convert,  he  re- 
laxed from  the  grim  sternness  he  had  at  first  exhibited 
towards  her.  He  loved  to  exert  the  eloquence  he  possessed 
in  raising  her  spirit ,  in  reconciling  her  doubts.  He  prayed 
for  her,  and  he  prayed  beside  her.^  with  passion  and  with 
tears. 

He  stayed  long  with  the  novice  ^  and ,  when  he  left  her, 
she  was ,  if  not  happy,  at  least  contented.  Her  warmest 
wish  now ,  was  to  abridge  the  period  of  her  noviciate , 
which ,  at  her  desire ,  the  church  had  already  rendered 
merely  a  nominal  probation.  She  longed  to  put  irresolution 
out  of  her  power,  and  to  enter  at  once  upon  the  narrow 
road  through  the  strait  gate. 

The  gentle  and  modest  piety  of  the  yoilng  novice  touched 
the  sisterhood  :  she  was  endeared  to  all  of  them.  Her  con- 
version was  an  event  that  broke  the  lethargy  of  their  stagnant 
life.  She  became  an  object  of  general  interest ,  of  avowed 
pride ;,  of  kindly  compassion^  and  their  kindness  to  her, 
who  from  her  cradle  had  seen  little  of  her  own  sex ,  had  a 
great  effect  towards  calming  and  soothing  her  mind.  But, 
at  night ,  her  dreams  brought  before  her  the  dark  and 
menacing  countenance  of  her  father.  Sometimes  he  seemed 
to  pluck  her  from  the  gates  of  heaven  ,  and  to  sink  with  her 
into  the  yaw^ning  abyss  below.  Sometimes  she  saw  him 
with  her  beside  the  altar ,  but  imploring  her  to  forswear 
ihe  Saviour,  before  whose  crucifix  she  knelt.  Occasionally 

11 


16-2  LKIL\, 

her  visionb  were  haunted ,  also  ,  with  Muza  —  but  in  less 
terrible  guise.  She  saw  his  calm  and  melancholy  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  \  and  his  voice  asked  ,  "  Canst  thou  take  a  vow 
that  makes  it  sinful  to  remember  me?" 

The  night,  that  usually  brings  balm  and  oblivion  to  the 
sad ,  was  thus  made  more  dreadful  to  Leila  than  the  day. 
Her  health  grew  feebler  and  feebler,  but  her  mind  still  was 
firm.  In  happier  time  and  circumstance  that  poor  novice 
would  have  been  a  great  character  j  but  she  was  one  of  the 
countless  victims  the  world  knows  not  of,  whose  virtues 
are  in  silent  motives ,  whose  struggles  are  in  the  solitary 
heart. 

Of  the  prince  she  heard  and  saw  no  more.  There  were 
times  when  she  fancied,  from  oblique  and  obscure  hints, 
that  the  Dominican  had  been  aware  of  Don  Juan's  disguise 
and  visit.  But,  if  so,  that  knowledge  appeared  only  to 
increase  the  gentleness,  almost  the  respect,  which  Tor- 
quemada  manifested  towards  her.  Certainly ,  since  that 
day,  from  some  cause  or  other,  the  priest's  manner  had 
been  softened  when  he  addressed  her  •,  and  he  who  seldom 
had  recourse  to  other  arts  than  those  of  censure  and  of 
menace ,  often  uttered  sentiments  half  of  pity  and  half  of 
praise. 

Thus  consoled  and  supported  in  the  day,  —  thus  haunted 
and  terrified  by  night,  but  still  not  repenting  her  resolve, 
Leila  saw  the  time  glide  on  to  that  eventful  day  when 
her  lips  were  to  pronounce  that  irrevocable  vow  which  is 
the  epitaph  of  life.  While  in  this  obscure  and  remote  con- 
vent progressed  the  history  of  an  individual,  we  are  sum- 
moned back  to  witness  the  crowning  fate  of  an  expiring 
dynasty. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAIVADA.  163 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   PAUSE   BETWEEN    DEFEAT    AND   SURRENDER, 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  plunged  once  more  amidst  the 
recesses  of  the  Alhambra.  Whatever  his  anguish  ,  or  his 
despondency,  none  were  permitted  to  share ,  or  even  to 
witness ,  his  emotions.  But  he  especially  resisted  the 
admission  to  his  solitude ,  demanded  by  his  mother,  im- 
plored by  his  faithful  Amine ,  and  sorrowfully  urged  by 
Muza  :  those  most  loved ,  or  most  respected,  were,  above 
all ,  the  persons  from  whom  he  most  shrunk. 

Almamen  was  heard  of  no  more.  It  was  believed  that  he 
had  perished  in  the  battle.  But  he  was  one  of  those ,  who, 
precisely  as  they  are  effective  when  present ,  are  forgotten 
in  absence.  And,  in  the  meanwhile,  as  the  Vega  was 
utterly  desolated,  and  all  supplies  were  cut  off,  famine, 
daily  made  more  terrifically  severe ,  diverted  the  attention 
of  each  humbler  Moor  from  the  fall  of  the  city  to  his  indi- 
vidual sufferings. 

New  persecutions  fell  upon  the  miserable  Jews.  Not 
having  taken  any  share  in  the  conflict  (as  was  to  be  expect- 
ed from  men  who  had  no  stake  in  the  country  which  they 
dwelt  in ,  and  whose  brethren  had  been  taught  so  severe  a 
lesson  upon  the  folly  of  interference ) ,  no  sentiment  of 
fellowship  in  danger  mitigated  the  hatred  and  loathing 
with  which  they  were  held  ^  and  as ,  in  their  lust  of  gain , 
many  of  them  continued  ,  amidst  the  agony  and  starvation 
of  the  citizens,  to  sell  food  at  enormous  prices,  the  excite- 
ment of  the  multitude  against  them —released ,  by  the  state 
of  the  city,  from  all  restraint  and  law  —  made  itself  felt  by 
the  most  barbarous  excesses.  Many  of  the  houses  of  the 
Israelites  were  attacked  by  the  mob ,  plundered ,  razed  to 
the  ground  ,  and  the  owners  tortured  to  death ,  to  extort 


164  LEILA , 

confession  ol'  imaginary  wealth.  Not  to  sell  what  was  de- 
manded was  a  crime  ^  to  sell  it  was  a  crime  also.  These  mi- 
serable outcasts  fled  to  whatever  secret  places  the  vaults 
of  their  houses ,  or  the  caverns  in  the  hills  within  the  city, 
could  yet  afford  them ,  cursing  their  fate ,  and  almost  long- 
ing even  for  the  yoke  of  the  Christian  bigots. 

Thus  passed  several  days  :  the  defence  of  the  city 
abandoned  to  its  naked  walls  and  mighty  gates.  The 
glaring  sun  looked  down  upon  closed  shops  and  depo- 
pulated streets,  save  when  some  ghostly  and  skeleton  band 
of  the  famished  poor  collected  ,  in  a  sudden  paroxysm  of 
revenge  or  despair,  around  the  stormed  and  fired  mansion 
of  a  detested  Israelite. 

At  length ,  Boabdil  aroused  himself  from  his  seclusion  ^ 
and  Muza ,  to  his  own  surprise ,  was  summoned  to  the 
presence  of  the  king.  He  found  Boabdil  in  one  of  the  most 
gorgeous  halls  of  his  gorgeous  palace. 

Within  the  Tow^r  of  Comares  is  a  vast  chamber,  still 
called  the  Hall  of  the  Ambassadors.  Here  it  was  that 
Boabdil  now  held  his  court.  On  the  glowing  walls  hung 
trophies  and  banners  ,  and  here  and  there  an  Arabian 
portrait  of  some  bearded  king.  By  the  windows,  which 
overlooked  the  most  lovely  banks  of  the  Darro ,  gathered 
the  santons  and  alfaquis,  a  httle  apart  from  the  main  crowd. 
Beyond  ,  through  half-veiling  draperies,  might  be  seen  the 
great  court  of  the  Alberca  ,  whose  peristyles  were  hung 
with  flowers :  while  ,  in  the  centre  ,  the  gigantic  basin 
which  gives  its  name  to  the  court  caught  the  sunlight 
obliquely,  and  its  waves  glittered  on  the  eye  from  amidst 
the  roses  that  then  clustered  over  it. 

In  the  audience-hall  itself,  a  canopy,  over  the  royal 
cushions  on  which  Boabdil  rechned ,  w^as  blazoned  with 
the  heraldic  insignia  of  Granada's  monarch.  His  guards, 
and  his  mutes,  and  his  eunuchs,  and  his  courtiers,  and 
his  counsellors,  and  his  captains,  were  ranged  in  long  files 
on  either  side  the  canopy.  It  seemed  the  last  flicker  of 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAWDA.  165 

the  ramp  of  the  Moorish  empire ,  that  hollow  and  unreal 
pomp  I  As  Muza  approached  the  monarch ,  he  was  startled 
by  the  change  of  his  countenance  :  the  young  and  beautiful 
Boabdil  seemed  to  have  grown  suddenly  old  ;  his  eyes  were 
sunken,  his  countenance  sown  with  wrinkles,  and  his 
voice  sounded  broken  and  hollow  on  the  ears  of  his  kins- 
man. 

"Come  hither,  Muza,"  said  he:  "seat  thyself  beside 
me,  and  listen  as  thou  best  canst  to  the  tidings  we  are 
about  to  hear.'" 

As  Muza  placed  himself  on  a  cushion ,  a  little  below  the 
king,  Boabdil  motioned  to  one  amongst  the  crowd. 

"  Hamet ,'"  said  he,  "  thou  hast  examined  the  state  of  the 
Christian  camp  :  what  news  dost  thou  bring?  " 

'•  Light  of  the  faithful,"  answered  the  Moor,  "it  is  a 
camp  no  longer—  it  has  already  become  a  city.  Mne  towns 
of  Spain  were  charged  with  the  task  :  stone  has  taken  the 
place  of  canvass :  towers  and  streets  arise  like  the  buildings 
of  a  genius  •,  and  the  misbelieving  king  hath  sworn  tliat  this 
new^  city  shall  not  be  left  until  Granada  sees  his  standard 
on  its  walls." 

"Go  on,"  said  Boabdil,  calmly. 

"Traders  and  men  of  merchandise  flock  thither  daily  ^ 
the  spot  is  one  bazaar:  all  that  should  supply  our  famishing 
country  pours  its  plenty  into  their  mart." 

Boabdil  motioned  to  the  Moor  to  withdraw,  and  an  alfaqui 
advanced  in  his  stead. 

"Successor  of  the  Prophet,  and  darling  of  the  world  1 " 
said  the  reverend  man ,  "  the  alfaquis  and  seers  of  Granada 
implore  thee  on  their  knees  to  listen  to  their  voice.  They 
have  consulted  the  Books  of  Fate ;  they  have  implored  a 
sign  from  the  Prophet :  and  they  Gnd  that  the  glory  has  left 
thy  people  and  thy  crown.  The  fall  of  Granada  is  pre- 
destined —  God  is  great  I  " 

"You  shall  have  my  answer  forthwith,"  said  Boabdil. 
"  Abdelemic,  approach." 


166  LEIL4  , 

From  the  crowd  came  an  aged  and  white-bearded  man^ 
the  governor  of  the  city. 

"Speak ,  old  man ,"  said  the  king. 

"Oh,  Boabdil!  "  said  the  veteran,  with  faltering  tones , 
while  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  \  "  son  of  "a  race  of 
kings  and  heroes  !  would  that  thy  servant  had  fallen  dead 
on  thy  threshold  this  day,  and  that  the  lips  of  a  Moorish 
noble  had  never  been  polluted  by  the  words  that  I  now 
utter.  Our  state  is  hopeless  :  our  granaries  are  as  the  sands 
of  the  deserts  ^  there  is  in  them  life  neither  for  beast  nor 
man.  The  war-horse  that  bore  the  hero  is  now  consumed 
for  his  food  ;  and  the  population  of  thy  city,  with  one  voice, 
cry  for  chains  and  —  bread !,  I  have  spoken." 

"Admit  the  ambassador  of  Egypt,"  said  Boabdil,  as 
Abdelemic  retired.  There  was  a  pause  :  one  of  the  drape- 
ries at  the  end  of  the  hall  was  drawn  aside  •,  and  with  the 
slow  and  sedate  majesty  of  their  tribe  and  land ,  paced  forth 
a  dark  and  swarthy  train,  the  envoys  of  the  Egyptian  soldan. 
Six  of  the  band  bore  costly  presents  of  gems  and  weapons, 
and  the  procession  closed  with  four  veiled  slaves,  whose 
beauty  had  been  the  boast  of  the  ancient  valley  of  the 
Nile. 

"  Sun  of  Granada  and  day-star  of  the  faithful  I"  said 
the  chief  of  the  Egyptians , "  my  lord ,  the  Soldan  of  Egypt, 
delight  of  the  world ,  and  rose-tree  of  the  East ,  thus  an- 
swers to  the  letters  of  Boabdil.  He  grieves  that  he  cannot 
send  the  succour  thou  demandest ,  and ,  informing  himself 
of  the  condition  of  thy  territories ,  he  finds  that  Granada 
no  longer  holds  a  seaport,  by  which  his  forces  (could  he 
send  them,)  might  find  an  entrance  into  Spain.  He  implores 
thee  to  put  thy  trust  in  Allah,  who  will  not  desert  his 
chosen  ones ,  and  lays  these  gifts,  in  pledge  of  amity  and 
love ,  at  the  feet  of  my  lord  the  king." 

"  It  is  a  gracious  and  well-timed  offering ,"  said  Boabdil . 
with  a  writhing  lip ,  "  we  thank  him."  There  was  now  a 
long  and  dead  silence ,  as  the  ambassadors  swept  from  the 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAIVADA.  167 

hall  ul  audience  ^  when  Boabdil  suddenly  raised  his  head 
from  his  breast,  and  looked  around  his  hall  with  a  kingly 
and  majestic  look  :  "  Let  the  heralds  of  Ferdinand  of  Spain 
approach/' 

A  groan  involuntarily  broke  from  the  breast  of  Muza  :  it 
was  echoed  by  a  murmur  of  abhorrence  and  despair  from 
the  gallant  captains  who  stood  around  •,  but  to  that  momen- 
tary burst  succeeded  a  breathless  silence,  as  from  another 
drapery,  opposite  the  royal  couch  ,  gleamed  the  burnished 
mail  of  the  knights  of  Spain.  Foremost  of  those  haughty 
visitors ,  whose  iron  heels  clanked  loudly  on  the  tesselated 
floor,  came  a  noble  and  stately  form ,  in  full  armour,  save 
the  helmet,  and  with  a  mantle  of  azure  velvet,  wrought 
with  the  silver  cross  that  made  the  badge  of  the  Christian 
war.  Lpon  his  manly  countenance  was  visible  no  sign  of 
undue  arrogance  or  exultation  ^  but  something  of  that  ge- 
nerous pity,  which  brave  men. feel  for  conquered  foes, 
dimnied  the  lustre  of  his  commanding  eye ,  and  softened 
the  wonted  sternness  of  his  martial  bearing.  He  and  his 
train  approached  the  king  with  a  profound  salutation  of 
respect^  and,  falling  back,  motioned  to  the  herald  that 
accompanied  him ,  and  whose  garb— breast  and  back — was 
wrought  with  the  arms  of  Spain  ,  to  deliver  himself  of  his 
mission. 

"  To  Boabdil  1 "  said  the  herald  ,  with  a  loud  voice,  that 
fdled  the  whole  expanse,  and  thrilled  with  various  emotions 
the  dumb  assembly.  "  To  Boabdil  el  Chico ,  king  of  Gra- 
nada ,  Ferdinand  of  Arragon  and  Isabel  of  Castile  send 
royal  greeting.  They  command  me  to  express  their  hope, 
that  the  war  is  at  length  concluded  ^  and  they  offer  to  the 
king  of  Granada  such  terms  of  capitulation ,  as  a  king , 
without  dishonour,  may  receive.  In  the  stead  of  this  city, 
which  their  Most  Christian  Majesties  will  restore  to  their 
own  dominion ,  as  is  just ,  they  offer,  O  king ,  princely  ter- 
ritories in  the  Alpuxarras  mountains  to  your  sway  ^  holding 
them  by  oath  of  fealty  to  the  Spanish  crown.  To  the  people 


168  LEILA, 

of  Granada ,  their  Most  Christian  Majesties  promise  full 
protection  of  property,  life  ,  and  faith  ,  under  a  government 
by  their  own  magistrates,  and  according  to  their  own  laws ; 
exemption  from  tribute  for  three  years  ^  and  taxes  there  after, 
regulated  by  the  custom  and  ratio  of  their  present  imposts. 
To  such  Moors  as,  discontented  with  these  provisions, 
would  abandon  Granada ,  are  promised  free  passage  for 
themselves  and  their  wealth.  In  return  for  these  marks  of 
their  royal  bounty,  their  Most  Christian  Majesties  summon 
Granada  to  surrender  ( if  no  succour  meanwhile  arrive) 
within  seventy  days.  And  these  offers  are  now  solemnly 
recorded  in  the  presence  ,  and  through  the  mission ,  of  the 
noble  and  renowned  knight ,  Gonzalvo  of  Cordova ,  deputed 
by  their  Most  Christian  Majesties  from  their  new  city  of 
Santa  Fe." 

When  the  herald  had  concluded ,  Boabdil  cast  his  eye 
over  his  thronged  and  splendid  court.  No  glance  of  fire  met 
his  own ;  amidst  the  silent  crowd,  a  resigned  content  was 
alone  to  be  perceived  :  the  proposals  exceeded  the  hope  of 
the  besieged. 

"  And ,"  asked  Boabdil ,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh ,  "  if  we 
reject  these  offers? " 

"  Noble  prince,"  said  Gonzalvo ,  earnestly,  "  ask  us  not 
to  wound  thine  ears  with  the  alternative.  Pause ,  and  con- 
sider of  our  offers  ^  and ,  if  thou  doubtest ,  O  brave  king ! 
mount  the  towers  of  thine  Alhambra ,  survey  our  legions 
marshalled  beneath  thy  walls ,  and  turn  thine  eyes  upon  a 
t)rave  people ,  defeated ,  not  by  human  valour ,  but  by 
famine ,  and  the  inscrutable  will  of  God." 

"  Yourmonarchs  shall  have  our  answer,  gentle  Christ- 
ian, perchance  ere  nightfall.  And  you,  sir  knight^  who 
hast  delivered  a  message  bitter  for  kings  to  hear  ,  receive , 
at  least ,  our  thanks  for  such  bearing  as  might  best  mitigate 
the  import.  Our  vizier  will  bear  to  your  apartment  those 
tokens  of  remembrance  that  are  yet  left  to  the  monarch  of 
Granada  to  bestow." 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  169 

"  Muza,"  resumed  the  king,  as  the  Spaniards  left  the 
presence , — "  thou  hast  heard  all.  What  is  the  last  counsel 
thou  canst  give  thy  sovereign  ? " 

The  fierce  Moor  had  with  difficulty  waited  this  license  to 
utter  such  sentiments  as  death  only  could  banish  from  that 
unconquerable  heart.  He  rose ,  descended  from  the  couch , 
and ,  standing  a  little  below  the  king ,  and  facing  the  motley 
throng  of  all  of  wise  or  brave  yet  left  to  Granada ,  thus 
spoke  :  — 

"  Why  should  w^e  surrender?  two  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants  are  yet  within  our  walls  •,  of  these  ,  twenty 
thousand,  at  least,  are  Moors,  who  have  hands  and  swords. 
Why  should  we  surrender?  Famine  presses  us,  it  is  true^ 
but  hunger,  that  makes  the  lion  more  terrible,  shall  it  make 
the  man  more  base  ?  Do  ye  despair?  so  be  it  :  despair,  in 
the  valiant,  ought  to  have  an  irresistible  force.  Despair  has 
made  cowards  brave  :  shall  it  sink  the  brave  to  cowards  ? 
Let  us  arouse  the  people  ^  hitherto  w^e  have  depended  too 
much  upon  the  nobles.  Let  us  collect  our  whole  force,  and 
march  upon  this  new  city^  while  the  soldiers  of  Spain  are 
employed  in  their  new  profession  of  architects  and  builders. 
Hear  me ,  O  God  and  Prophet  of  the  Moslem !  hear  one 
who  never  was  forsworn !  If,  Moors  of  Granada ,  ye  adopt 
my  counsel,  I  cannot  promise  ye  victory,  but  I  promise  ye 
never  to  live  without  it  :  I  promise  ye ,  at  least ,  your  inde- 
pendence— for  the  dead  know  no  chains !  Let  us  die ,  if  we 
cannot  live ,  so  that  we  may  leave,  to  remotest  ages ,  a  glory 
that  shall  be  more  durable  than  kingdoms.  King  of  Gra- 
nada I  this  is  the  counsel  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan." 

The  prince  ceased.  But  he,  whose  faintest  word  had 
once  breathed  fire  into  the  dullest ,  had  now  poured  out  his 
spirit  upon  frigid  and  lifeless  matter.  No  man  answered — 
no  man  moved. 

Boabdil  alone  ,  clinging  to  the  shadow  oi  hope ,  turned 
at  last  towards  the  audience. 

"  Warriors  and  sages  I  "  he  said  ,  '\as  Muza's  counsel  is 


170  LEILA, 

your  king's  desire,  say  but  the  word ,  and ,  ere  the  hour- 
glass shed  its  last  sand,  the  blast  of  our  trumpet  shall  be 
ringing  through  the  Vivarrambla.'" 

"  O  king  I  fight  not  against  the  will  of  fate-God  is 
great!"  repfied  the  chief  of  the  alfaquis. 

"Aiasl"said  Abdelemie,  "  if  the  voice  of  Muza  and 
your  own  fall  thus  coldly  upon  us ,  how  can  ye  stir  the 
breadless  and  heartless  multitude?" 

"  Is  such  your  general  thought ,  and  your  general  will?" 
said  Boabdil. 

An  universal  murmur  answered ,  "  Yes  I  " 

"Go  then,  Abdelemie,"  resumed  the  ill-starred  king, 
*'  go  with  yon  Spaniards  to  the  Christian  camp,  and  bring 
us  back  the  best  terms  you  can  obtain.  The  crown  has  passed 
from  the  head  of  El  Zogoybi  ^  Fate  sets  her  seal  upon  my 
brow.  Unfortunate  was  the  commencement  of  my  reign — 
unfortunate  its  end.  Break  up  the  divan." 

The  words  of  Boabdil  moved  and  penetrated  an  audience, 
never  till  then  so  alive  to  his  gentle  qualities,  his  learned 
wisdom,  and  his  natural  valour.  Many  flung  themselves 
at  his  feet,  with  tears  and  sighs  ^  and  the  crowd  gathered 
round  ,  to  touch  the  hem  of  his  robe. 

Muza  gazed,  at  them  in  deep  disdain ,  with  folded  arms 
and  heaving  breast. 

"  Women ,  not  men  I "  he  exclaimed,  "  ye  weep,  as  if  ye 
had  not  blood  still  left  to  shed  I  Ye  are  reconciled  to  the 
loss  of  liberty,  because  ye  are  told  ye  shall  lose  nothing 
else.  Fools  and  dupes  I  I  see ,  from  the  spot  where  my 
spirit  stands  above  ye,  the  dark  and  dismal  future  to  which 
ye  are  crawling  on  your  knees  :  bondage  and  rapine — the 
violence  of  lawless  lust — the  persecution  of  hostile  faith — 
your  gold  wrung  from  ye  by  torture — your  national  name 
rooted  from  the  soil.  Bear  this  ,  and  remember  me  I  Fare- 
well, Boabdil  I  you  I  pity  not  ^  for  your  gardens  have  yet  a 
poison,  and  your  armouries  a  sword.  Farewell,  nobles  and 
santons  of  Granada  I  I  quit  my  country  wliile  it  is  yet  free." 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  171 

Scarcely  had  he  ceased  ere  he  had  disappeared  from  the 
hall.  It  was  as  the  parting  genius  of  Granada ! 


CHAPTER  I\ . 

THE   ADVENTURE   OF   THE   SOLITARY   HORSEMAN, 

It  was  a  burning  and  sultry  noon ,  when ,  through  a  small 
valley ,  skirted  by  rugged  and  precipitous  hills ,  at  the  di- 
stance of  several  leagues  from  Granada ,  a  horseman ,  in  com- 
plete armour,  wound  his  solitary  way.  His  mail  was  black 
and  unadorned^  on  his  vizor  waved  no  plume.  But  there 
was  something  in  his  carriage  and  mien,  and  the  singular 
beauty  of  his  coal-black  steed ,  which  appeared  to  indicate 
a  higher  rank  than  the  absence  of  page  and  squire ,  and  the 
plainness  of  his  accoutrements ,  would  have  denoted  to  a 
careless  eye.  He  rode  very  slowly ;  and  his  steed ,  with  the 
license  of  a  spoiled  favourite ,  often  halted  lazily  in  his  sultry 
path  ,  as  a  tuft  of  herbage ,  or  the  bough  of  some  over- 
hanging tree ,  ofTered  its  temptation.  At  length  ,  as  he  thus 
paused  ,  a  noise  was  heard  in  a  copse  that  clothed  the  de- 
scent of  a  steep  mountain  :^  and  the  horse  started  suddenly 
back ,  forcing  the  traveller  from  his  reverie.  He  looked 
mechanically  upward  ,  and  beheld  the  figure  of  a  man 
bounding  through  the  trees ,  with  rapid  and  irregular  steps. 
It  was  a  form  that  suited  well  the  silence  and  solitude  of 
the  spot-,  and  might  have  passed  for  one  of  those  stern  re- 
cluses—  half  hermit,  half  soldier  —  who,  in  the  earlier 
crusades ,  fixed  their  wild  homes  amidst  the  sands  and  caves 
of  Palestine.  The  stranger  supported  his  steps  by  a  long 
staff.  His  hair  and  beard  hung  long  and  matted  over  his 
broad  shoulders.  A  rusted  mail,  once  splendid  with  ara- 
besque enrichments,  protected  his  breast^  but  the  loose 
gown  —  a  sort  of  tartan  ,  which  descended  below  the  cui- 


172  LEILA, 

rass  — was  rent  and  tattered,  and  his  feet  bare;  in  liis 
girdle  was  a  short  curved  cimeter,  a  knife  or  dagger,  and  a 
parchment  roll,  clasped  and  bound  with  iron. 

As  the  horseman  gazed  at  this  abrupt  intruder  on  the 
solitude ,  his  frame  quivered  with  emotion  5  and ,  raising 
himself  to  his  full  height ,  he  called  aloud ,  "  Fiend  or  san- 
ton  —  whatsoever  thou  art  — what  seekest  thou  in  these 
lonely  places  ,  far  from  the  king  thy  counsels  deluded ,  and 
the  city  betrayed  by  thy  false  prophecies  aud  unhallowed 
charms  ? " 

"  Ha! "  cried  Almamen  ,  for  it  was  indeed  the  Israelite  ^ 
"  by  thy  black  charger,  and  the  tone  of  thy  haughty  voice , 
I  know  the  hero  of  Granada.  Rather,  Muza  Ben  Abil  Ga- 
zan ,  why  art  thou  absent  from  the  last  hold  of  the  Moorish 
empire?" 

"  Dost  thou  pretend  to  read  the  future ,  and  art  thou  blind 
to  the  present?  Granada  has  capitulated  to  the  Spaniard. 
Alone  I  have  left  a  land  of  slaves ,  and  shall  seek  ,  in  our 
ancestral  Africa  ,  some  spot  where  the  footstep  of  the  mis- 
believer hath  not  trodden." 

"The  fate  of  one  bigotry  is ,  then ,  sealed  ,"  said  Alma- 
men, gloomily;  "but  that  which  succeeds  it  is  yet  more 
dark." 

"Dog!"  cried  Muza,  couching  bis  lance,  "what  art 
thou ,  that  thus  hlasphemest  ? " 

"  A  Jew !  "  replied  Almamen  ,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  and 
drawing  his  cimeter  :  "  a  despised  and  despising  Jew !  Ask 
you  more?  lam  the  son  of  a  race  of  kings.  I  was  the  worst 
enemy  of  the  Moors  ,  till  I  found  the  N azai^ene  more  hate- 
ful than  the  Moslem  •,  and  then  even  INIuza  himself  was  not 
their  more  renowned  champion.  Come  on  ,  if  thou  wilt , 
man  to  man  :  I  defy  thee !  " 

"  jNo  ,  no ,"  muttered  Muza,  sinking  his  lance  ^  "  thy  mail 
is  rusted  "with  the  blood  of  the  Spaniard ,  and  this  arm  can- 
not smite  the  slayer  of  the  Christian.  Part  we  in  peace." 

"  Hold,  prince  !  "  said  Almamen  ,  in  an  altered  voice  : 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  173 

'  is  thy  country  the  sole  thing  dear  to  thee?  Has  the  smile 
of  woman  never  stole  beneath  thine  armour  ?  Has  thy  heart 
never  beat  for  softer  meetings  than  the  encounter  of  a  foe  ? " 

*'Am  I  human,  and  a  Moor?"  returned  Muza.  "For 
once  you  divine  aright  ^  and  ,  could  thy  spells  bestow  on 
these  eyes  but  one  more  sight  of  the  last  thing  left  to  me  on 
earth  ,  I  should  be  as  credulous  of  thy  sorcery  as  Boabdil." 

"  Thou  lovest  her  still ,  then  —  this  Leila  ?" 

"Dark  necromancer,  hast  thou  read  my  secret?  and 
knowest  thou  the  name  of  my  beloved  one?  Ah  I  let  me 
believe  thee  indeed  wise ,  and  reveal  to  me  the  spot  of  earth 
which  holds  the  treasure  of  my  soul  I  Yes ,'"  continued  the 
Moor,  with  increased  emotion  ,  and  throwing  up  his  vizor, 
as  if  for  air — "yes,  Allah  forgive  me  I  but,  when  all  was 
lost  at  Gr^ada ,  I  had  still  one  consolation  in  leaving  my 
fated  birth-place  :  I  had  license  to  search  for  Leila ;  I  had 
the  hope  to  secure  to  my  wanderings  in  distant  lands  one 
to  whose  glance  the  eyes  of  the  houris  would  be  dim.  But 
I  waste  words.  Tell  me  where  is  Leila  ,  and  conduct  me  to 
her  feet." 

"  Moslem  ,  I  will  lead  thee  to  her,'"  answered  Almamen , 
gazing  on  the  prince  with  an  expression  of  strange  and 
fearful  exultation  in  his  dark  eyes  :  "  I  will  lead  thee  to  her 
—  follow  me.  It  is  only  yesternight  that  I  learned  the  walls 
that  conGned  her;  and  from  that  hour  to  this  have  I  jour- 
neyed over  mountain  and  desert,  without  rest  or  food." 

"  Yet  what  is  she  to  thee?"  asked  Muza,  suspiciously. 

•'  Thou  shalt  learn  full  soon.    Let  us  on." 

So  saying ,  Almamen  sprung  forward  with  a  vigour  which 
the  excitement  of  his  mind  supplied  to  the  exhaustion  of 
his  body.  Muza  wonderingly  pushed  on  his  charger,  and 
endeavoured  to  draw  his  mysterious  guide  into  conversa- 
tion :  but  Almamen  scarcely  heeded  him.  His  long  fast, 
his  solitary  travels .  his  anxieties  ,  liis  vicissitudes ,  and  — 
more  than  all  —  his  own  fiery  and  consuming  passions . 
were  fast  ripening  into  confirmed  frenzy  the  half  delirious 


174  LEILA, 

emotions  which  had  for  months  marred  the  natural  keen- 
ness of  his  intellect ;  and,  when  he  broke  from  his  gloomy 
silence,  it  was  but  in  incoherent  and  brief  exclamations, 
often  in  a  tongue  foreign  to  the  ear  of  his  companion.  The 
hardy  Moor,  though  steeled  against  the  superstitions  of  his 
race ,  less  by  the  philosophy  of  the  learned  than  the  con- 
tempt of  the  brave ,  felt  an  awe  gather  over  him  as  he  glan- 
ced ,  from  time  to  time ,  from  the  giant  rocks  and  lonely 
valleys ,  to  the  unearthly  aspect  and  glittering  eyes  of  the 
reputed  sorcerer ;  and  more  than  once  he  muttered  such 
verses  of  the  Koran  as  he  remembered ,  and  were  esteemed 
by  his  countrymen  the  counterspell  of  the  machinations  of 
the  evil  genii. 

It  might  be  an  hour  that  they  had  thus  journeyed  to- 
gether, when  Almamen  paused  abruptly.  "  I  am  wearied," 
said  he  ,  faintly  5  "  and ,  though  time  presses ,  I  fear  that  my 
strength  will  fail  me." 

"  Mount,  then,  behind  me,"  returned  the  Moor,  after 
some  natural  hesitation  :  "Jew  though  thou  art,  I  will 
brave  the  contamination  for  the  sake  of  Leila." 

"  Moor  I  "  cried  the  Hebrew,  fiercely,  "  the  contamina- 
tion would  be  mine.  Things  of  the  yesterday,  as  thy  pro- 
phet and  thy  creed  are ,  thou  canst  not  sound  the  unfathom- 
able loathing ,  which  each  heart ,  faithful  to  the  Ancient  of 
Days ,  feels  for  such  as  thou  and  thine." 

'*  iVow,  by  the  Kaaba  I  "  said  Muza ,  and  his  brow  became 
dark ,  "another  such  word  ,  and  the  hoofs  of  my  steed  shall 
trample  the  breath  of  blasphemy  from  thy  body." 

"  I  would  defy  thee  to  the  death ,'  answered  Almamen , 
disdainfully^  "but  I  reserve  the  bravest  of  the  Moors  to 
witriess  a  deed  worthy  of  the  descendant  of  Jephtha.  But, 
hist!  I  hear  hoofs." 

Muza  listened ;  and  ,  at  a  distance  beyond  them ,  his  sharp 
ear  caught  a  distinct  ring  upon  the  hard  and  rocky  soil. 
He  turned  round,  and  saw  Almamen  gliding  away  through 
the  thick  underwood,  until  the  branches  concealed  his  form. 


OR    THE    SlEGt    OF    GRAIN  ADA.  175 

Presently,  a  curve  in  the  path  brought  in  view  a  Spanish 
cavaher,  mounted  on  an  Andalusian  jennet ;  the  horseman 
was  gaily  singing  one  of  the  popular  ballads  of  the  time ; 
and ,  as  it  related  to  the  feats  of  the  Spaniards  against  the 
Moors,  Muza's  haughty  blood  was  already  stirred,  and  his 
moustache  quivered  on  his  lip.  "  I  will  change  the  air,' 
mattered  the  Moslem  ,  grasping  his  lance  •,  w  hen  ,  as  the 
thought  crossed  him  ,  he  beheld  the  Spaniard  suddenly  reel 
in  his  saddle ,  and  fall  prostrate  on  the  ground.  In  the  same 
instant  Almamen  had  darted  from  his  hiding-place,  seized 
the  steed  of  the  cavalier,  mounted  ,  and  ,  ere  Muza  reco- 
vered from  his  surprise ,  was  by  the  side  of  the  Moor. 

"  By  what  charm ,"  said  Muza  ,  curbing  his  barb ,  "  didst 
thou  fell  the  Spaniard  —  seemingly  without  a  blow?" 

"  As  David  felled  Goliah  —  by  the  pebble  and  the  sling ," 
answered  Almamen,  carelessly.  "?>ow.  then,  spur  for- 
ward ,  if  thou  art  eager  to  see  thy  Leila." 

The  horsemen  dashed  over  the  body  of  the  stunned  and 
insensible  Spaniard.  Tree  and  mountain  glided  by;  gra- 
dually the  valley  vanished,  and  a  thick  forest  gloomed  upon 
their  path.  Still  they  made  on,  though  the  interlaced 
boughs,  and  the  ruggedness  of  the  footing,  somewhat 
obstructed  their  way:  until,  as  the  sun  began  slowly  to 
decline,  they  entered  a  broad  and  circular  space ,  round 
which  trees  of  the  eldest  growth  spread  their  motionless 
and  shadowy  boughs.  In  the  midmost  sward  was  a  rude 
and  antique  stone ,  resembling  the  altar  of  some  barbarous 
and  departed  creed.  Here  Almamen  abruptly  halted  ,  and 
muttered  inaudibly  to  himself. 

"What  moves  thee,  dark  stranger?"  said  the  Moor^ 
"  and  why  dost  thou  mutter,  and  gaze  on  space?" 

Almamen  answered  not,  but  dismounted ,  hung  his  bridle 
to  a  branch  of  a  scathed  and  riven  elm ,  and  advanced  alone 
into  the  middle  of  the  space.  "  Dread  and  prophetic  power 
that  art  within  me!  "  said  the  Hebrew,  aloud, — "This,  then, 
is  the  spot  that ,  by  dream  and  vision ,  thou  hast  foretold  me 


176  LEILA  . 

wherein  to  consummate  and  record  the  vow  that  shall 
sever  from  the  spirit  the  last  weakness  of  the  flesh.  Mght 
after  night  hast  thou  brought  before  mine  eyes,  in  darkness 
and  in  slumber,  the  solemn  solitude  that  I  now  survey.  Be 
it  so  :  I  am  prepared  I '' 

Thus  speaking ,  he  retired  for  a  few  moments  into  the 
wood :  collected  in  his  arms  the  dry  leaves  and  withered 
branches  which  cumbered  the  desolate  clay:  and  placed 
the  fuel  upon  the  altar.  Then ,  turning  to  the  East ,  and 
raising  his  hands  on  high,  he  exclaimed,  "Lol  upon  this 
altar,  once  worshipped ,  perchance ,  by  the  heathen  savage , 
the  last  bold  spirit  of  thy  fallen  and  scattered  race  dedicates , 
O  Ineffable  One  I  that  precious  offering  thou  didst  demand 
from  a  sire  of  old.  Accept  the  sacrifice  I '" 

As  the  Hebrew  ended  his  adjuration ,  he  drew  a  vial  from 
his  bosom,  and  sprinkled  a  few  drops  upon  the  arid  fuel. 
A  pale  blue  flame  suddenly  leaped  up :  and  ,  as  it  lighted  the 
haggard  but  earnest  countenance  of  the  Israelite ,  Muza  felt 
his  Moorish  blood  congeal  in  his  veins ,  and  shuddered , 
though  he  scarce  knew  why.  Almamen ,  then ,  with  his  dag- 
ger, severed  from  his  head  one  of  his  long  locks,  and  cast 
it  upon  he  flame.  He  watched  it  till  it  was  consumed ;  and 
then ,  with  a  stifled  cry,  fell  upon  the  earth  in  a  dead  swoon. 
The  ;Moor  hastened  to  raise  him :  he  chafed  his  hands  and 
temples  ^  he  unbuckled  the  vest  upon  his  bosom  :  he  forgot 
that  his  comrade  was  a  sorcerer  and  a  Jew ,  so  much  had 
the  agony  of  that  excitement  moved  his  sympathy. 

It  was  not  till  several  minutes  had  elapsed,  that  Alma- 
men ,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh ,  recovered  from  his  swoon. 
"  Ah,  beloved  one  I  bride  of  my  heart  I  "  he  murmured, 
''  w^as  it  for  this  that  thou  didst  commend  to  me  the  only 
pledge  of  our  youthful  love?  Forgive  me  I  I  restore  her  to 
the  earth,  untainted  by  the  Gentile."  He  closed  his  eyes 
again ,  and  a  strong  convulsion  shook  his  frame.  It  passed  ^ 
and  he  rose  as  a  man  from  a  fearful  dream ,  composed ,  and 
.ilmost ,  as  it  were  ,  refreshed ,  by  the  terrors  he  had  un- 


OR    THE    SIKGE    OF    GRANADA.  1/7 

dergone.  The  last  glimmer  of  the  ghastly  light  was  dying 
away  upon  that  ancient  altar,  and  a  low  wind  crept  sighing 
through  the  trees. 

"Mount,  prince,"  said  Almamen ,  calmly,  but  averting 
his  eyes  from  the  altar  \  "  we  shall  have  no  more  delays." 

"  Wilt  thou  not  explain  thy  incantation?"  asked  Muza; 
"or  is  it,  as  my  reason  tells  me ,  but  the  mummery  of  a 
juggler?" 

"  Alas !  alas  I  "  answered  Almamen  ,  in  a  sad  and  altered 
tone,  "thou  wilt  soon  know  all." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   SACRIFICE. 

The  sun  was  now  sinking  slowly  through  those  masses 
of  purple  cloud  which  belong  to  Iberian  skies ;  wiien ,  emerg- 
ing from  the  forest,  the  travellers  saw  before  them  a  small 
and  lovely  plain ,  cultivated  like  a  garden.  Rows  of  orange 
and  citron  trees  were  backed  by  the  dark  green  foliage  of 
vines  ^  and  these,  again,  found  a  barrier  in  girdling  copses 
of  chestnut,  oak ,  and  the  deeper  verdure  of  pines  :  while , 
far  to  the  horizon ,  rose  the  distant  and  dim  outline  of  the 
mountain  range ,  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  mellow 
colourings  of  the  heaven.  Through  this  charming  spot  went 
a  slender  and  sparkling  torrent,  that  collected  its  waters  in 
a  circular  basin ,  over  which  the  rose  and  orange  hung  their 
contrasted  blossoms.  On  a  gentle  eminence,  above  this 
plain  or  garden,  rose  the  spires  of  a  convent  :  and ,  though 
it  was  still  clear  daylight,  the  long  and  pointed  lattices 
were  illumined  within-,  and,  as  the  horsemen  cast  their 
eyes  upon  the  pile ,  the  sound  of  the  holy  chorus  —  made 
more  sweet  and  solemn  from  its  own  indistinctness ,  from 
the  quiet  of  the  hour,  from  the  sudden  and  sequestered 


178  LEILA., 

loveliness  of  that  spot,  suiting  so  well  the  ideal  calm  of  the 
conventual  life  —  rolled  its  music  through  the  odorous  and 
lucent  air. 

But  that  scene  and  that  sound ,  so  calculated  to  soothe 
and  harmonise  the  thoughts ,  seemed  to  arouse  Almamen 
into  agony  and  passion.  He  smote  his  breast  with  his 
clenched  hand-,  and,  shrieking,  rather  than  exclaiming, 
"  God  of  my  fathers!  have  I  come  too  late.^"  buried  his 
spurs  to  the  rowels  in  the  sides  of  his  panting  steed.  Along 
the  sward  ,  through  the  fragrant  shrubs  ,  athwart  the 
pebbly  and  shallow  torrent ,  up  the  ascent  to  the  convent, 
sped  the  Israelite.  Muza,  wondering  and  half  reluctant, 
followed  at  a  little  distance.  Clearer  and  nearer  came  the 
voices  of  the  choir ;  broader  and  redder  glowed  the  tapers 
from  the  Gothic  casements  :  the  porch  of  the  convent 
chapel  was  reached  ^  the  Hebrew  sprang  from  his  horse. 
A  small  group  of  the  peasants  dependent  on  the  convent 
loitered  reverently  round  the  threshold  :  pushing  through 
them,  as  one  frantic,  Ahnamen  entered  the  chapel,  and 
disappeared. 

A  minute  elapsed.  Muza  was  at  the  door ;  but  the  Moor 
paused  irresolutely  ere  he  dismounted.  '*  What  is  the 
ceremony? "  he  asked  of  the  peasants. 

"  A  nun  is  about  to  take  the  vows,"  answered  one  of 
them. 

A  cry  of  alarm,  of  indignation,  of  terror,  was  heard 
within.  Muza  no  longer  delayed :  he  gave  his  steed  to  the 
bystander,  pushed  aside  the  heavy  curtain  that  screened 
the  threshold ,  and  was  within  the  chapel. 

By  the  altar  gathered  a  confused  and  disordered  group 
— the  sisterhood,  with  their  abbess.  Round  the  consecrated 
rail  flocked  the  spectators  ,  breathless  and  amazed.  Con- 
spicuous above  the  rest ,  on  the  elevation  of  the  holy  place, 
stood  Almamen ,  with  his  drawn  dagger  in  his  right  hand , 
his  left  arm  clasped  around  the  form  of  a  novice,  whose 
dress,  not  yet  replaced  by  the  serge,  bespoke  her  the  sister 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GrxANADA.  179 

fated  to  the  veil :  and ,  on  the  opposite  side  of  that  sister, 
one  hand  on  her  shoulder,  the  other  rearing  on  high  the 
sacred  crucifix ,  stood  a  stern ,  calm ,  commanding  form ,  in 
the  white  robes  of  the  Dominican  order  :  it  was  Tomas  de 
Torquemada. 

*'  Avaunt,  x\baddonI"  were  the  first  words  which 
reached  Muza's  ear,  as  he  stood ,  unnoticed,  in  the  middle 
of  the  aisle  :  '*  here  thy  sorcery  and  thine  arts  cannot  avail 
thee.    Release  the  devoted  one  of  God  I " 

"  She  is  mine!  she  is  my  daughter!  1  claim  her  from 
thee  as  a  father,  in  the  name  of  the  great  Sire  of  Man  I " 

"  Seize  the  sorcerer  I  seize  him !  "  exclaimed  the  inqui- 
sitor, as,  with  a  sudden  movement,  Almamen  cleared  his 
way  through  the  scattered  and  dismayed  group ,  and  stood, 
with  his  daughter  in  his  arms ,  on  the  first  step  of  the 
consecrated  platform. 

But  not  a  foot  stirred  —  not  a  hand  was  raised.  The 
epithet  bestowed  on  the  intruder  had  only  breathed  a 
supernatural  terror  into  the  audience  ^  and  they  would  have 
sooner  rushed  upon  a  tiger  in  his  lair,  than  on  the  lifted 
dagger  and  savage  aspect  of  that  grim  stranger. 

"Oh,  my  father!"  then  said  a  low  and  faltering  voice, 
that  startled  Muza  as  a  voice  from  the  grave  —  "  wrestle 
not  against  the  decrees  of  Heaven.  Thy  daughter  is  not 
compelled  to  her  solemn  choice.  Humbly,  but  devotedly, 
a  convert  to  the  Christian  creed ,  her  only  wish  on  earth  is 
to  take  the  consecrated  and  eternal  vow." 

"Ha!'"  groaned  the  Hebrew,  suddenly  relaxing  his 
hold ,  as  his  daughter  fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  "  then 
have  I  indeed  been  told,  as  I  have  foreseen,  the  worst. 
The  veil  is  rent  —  the  spirit  hath  left  the  temple.  Thy 
beauty  is  desecrated^  thy  form  is  but  unhallowed  clay. 
Dog ! "  he  cried ,  more  fiercely,  glaring  round  upon  the 
unmoved  face  of  the  inquisitor,  "  this  is  thy  work  :  but 
thou  shalt  not  triumph.  Here,  by  thine  own  shrine,  I  spit 
at  and  defy  thee  ,  as  once  before  ,  amidst  the  tortures  of  thy 


180  LEILA, 

inhuman  court.  Thus —  thus  —  thus  —  Almamen  the  Je\v 
delivers  the  last  of  his  house  from  the  curse  of  Galilee  I " 

"  Hold  ,  murderer  I"  cried  a  voice  of  thunder  ;  and  an 
armed  man  burst  through  the  crowd  ,  and  stood  upon  the 
platform.  It  was  too  late  :  thrice  the  blade  of  the  Hebrew 
had  passed  through  that  innocent  breast^  thrice  was  it 
reddened  with  that  virgin  blood.  Leila  fell  in  the  arms  of 
her  lover ;  her  dim  eyes  rested  upon  his  countenance ,  as  it 
shone  upon  her,  beneath  his  lifted  vizor  —  a  faint  and 
tender  smile  played  upon  her  lips  —  Leila  was  no  more. 

One  hasty  glance  Almamen  cast  upon  his  victim,  and  then, 
with  a  wild  laugh ,  that  woke  every  echo  in  the  dreary 
aisles ,  he  leaped  from  the  place.  Brandishing  his  bloody 
weapon  above  his  head ,  he  dashed  through  the  coward 
crowd  •,  and  ,  ere  even  the  startled  Dominican  had  found  a 
voice ,  the  tramp  of  his  headlong  steed  rang  upon  the  air  : 
an  instant —  and  all  was  silent. 

But  over  that  murdered  girl  leaned  the  Moor,  as  yet 
incredulous  of  her  death  •,  her  head ,  still  unshorn  of  its 
purple  tresses  ,  pillowed  on  his  lap  —  her  icy  hand  clasped 
in  his ,  and  her  blood  weltering  fast  over  his  armour.  IN  one 
disturbed  him  •,  for,  habited  as  the  knights  of  Christendom, 
none  suspected  his  faith;  and  all,  even  the  Dominican, 
felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy  at  his  distress.  With  the  quickness 
of  comprehension  common  to  those  climes ,  they  under- 
stood at  once  that  it  was  a  lover  wiio  sustained  that  beauti- 
ful clay.  How  he  came  hither,  with  what  object  — what 
hope  ,  their  thoughts  were  too  much  locked  in  pity  to  con- 
jecture. There ,  voiceless  and  motionless ,  bent  the  Moor  \ 
until  one  of  the  monks  approached  and  felt  the  pulse ,  to 
ascertain  if  life  was,  indeed  ,  utterly  gone. 

The  Moor,  at  first,  waved  him  haughtily  awayj  but, 
when  he  divined  the  monk's  purpose,  suffered  him  in 
silence  to  take  the  beloved  hand.  He  fixed  on  him  his  dark 
and  imploring  eyes  \  and ,  when  the  father  dropped  the 
^land  ,  and ,  gently  shaking  his  head ,  turned  away,  a  deep 


OR    THE    SIKGE    OF    GRAxNADA.  181 

and  agonising  groan  was  all  that  the  audience  heard  from 
that  heart  in  which  the  last  iron  of  fate  had  entered.  Pas- 
sionately he  kissed  the  brow,  the  cheeks,  the  lips,  of  the 
hushed  and  angel  face  —  and  rose  from  the  spot. 

*'  What  dost  thou  here?  and  what  knowest  thou  of  yon 
murderous  enemy  of  God  and  man?  "asked  the  Dominican, 
approaching. 

Muza  made  no  reply,  as  he  stalked  slowly  through  the 
chapel.  The  audience  was  touched  to  sudden  tears. 
"  Forbear!"  said  they,  almost  with  one  accord,  to  the 
harsh  inquisitor^  "  he  hath  no  voice  to  answer  thee." 

And  thus  ,  amidst  the  oppressive  grief  and  sympathy  of 
the  Christian  throng ,  the  unknown  Paynim  reached  the 
door  ^  mounted  his  steed  ^  and ,  as  he  turned  once  more  , 
and  cast  a  hurried  glance  upon  the  fatal  pile,  the  by- 
standers saw  the  large  tears  rolling  down  his  swarthy 
cheeks. 

Slowly  that  coal-black  charger  wound  down  the  hillock 
—  crossed  the  quiet  and  lovely  garden ,  and  vanished 
amidst  the  forest.  And  never  was  known,  to  Moor  or 
Christian ,  the  future  fate  of  the  hero  of  Granada.  Whether 
he  reached  in  safety  the  shores  of  his  ancestral  Africa ,  and 
carved  out  new^  fortunes  and  a  new  name^  or  whether 
death ,  by  disease  or  strife ,  terminated  obscurely  his 
glorious  and  brief  career  ^  mystery  —  deep  and  unpene- 
trated,  even  by  the  fancies  of  the  thousand  bards  who  have 
consecrated  his  deeds  —  wraps  in  everlasting  shadow  the 
destinies  of  Muza  Ben  Abil  Gazan ,  from  that  hour,  when 
the  setting  sun  threw  its  parting  ray  over  his" stately  form 
and  his  ebon  barb  ,  disappearing  amidst  the  breathless, 
shadows  of  the  forest. 


82  LKILA 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  RETURN.  —  THE  RIOT.  —  THE  TREACHERV.  —  AND  THE  DEATH. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  fatal  day  on  which  Granada  was  to 
be  delivered  to  the  Spaniards ,  and  in  that  subterranean 
vault  beneath  the  house  of  Almamen ,  before  described , 
three  elders  of  the  Jewish  persuasion  were  met. 

"  Trusty  and  well-beloved  Ximen,"  cried  one — a  wealthy 
and  usurious  merchant ,  with  a  twinkling  and  humid  eye , 
and  a  sleek  and  unctuous  aspect,  which  did  not ,  however, 
suffice  to  disguise  something  fierce  and  crafty  in  his  low 
brow  and  pinched  lips  :  "  trusty  and  well-beloved  Ximen ," 
said  this  Jew,  ''  truly,  thou  hast  served  us  well,  in  yield- 
ing to  thy  persecuted  brethren  this  secret  shelter.  Here , 
indeed ,  may  the  heathen  search  for  us  in  vain.  Verily,  my 
veins  grow  warm  again ;  and  thy  servant  hungereth ,  and 
hath  thirst." 

'*  Eat,  Isaac ,  eat ;  yonder  are  viands  prepared  for  thee  ; 
eat ,  and  spare  not.  And  thou ,  Elias — wilt  thou  not  draw 
near  the  board?  The  wine  is  old  and  precious,  and  will 
revive  thee." 

"  Ashes  and  hyssop — hyssop  and  ashes,  are  food  and 
drink  for  me  I "  answered  Elias,  w^th  passionate  bitterness  5 
"  they  have  razed  my  house— they  have  burned  my  gra- 
naries— they  have  molten  down  my  gold.  I  am  a  ruined 
man ! " 

"  Nay,"  said  Ximen,  who  gazed  at  him  with  a  male- 
volent eye  (for  so  utterly  had  years  and  sorrows  mixed 
with  gall  even  the  one  kindlier  sympathy  he  possessed ,  that 
he  could  not  resist  an  inward  chuckle  over  the  very 
afflictions  he  relieved ,  and  the  very  impotence  he  protected 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  183 

— "  nay,  Elias;  thou  hast  wealth  yet  left  in  the  seaport 
towns ,  sudicient  to  buy  up  half  Granada." 

"  The  iVazarene  will  seize  it  all  I "  cried  Elias  ^  "  I  see  it 
already  in  his  grasp  I  " 

"  Nay,  thinkest  thou  so?  —  and  ^Yherefo^e?"  asked 
Ximen ,  startled  into  sincere ,  because  selfish  anxiety. 

"Mark  me  I  Under  license  of  the  truce,  I  went,  last 
night ,  to  the  Christian  camp — I  had  an  interview  with  the 
Christian  king  ^  and  when  he  heard  my  name  and  faith ,  his 
very  beard  curled  with  ire,  '  Hound  of  Belial! '  he  roared 
forth, '  has  not  Ihy  comrade  carrion ,  the  sorcerer  Almamen, 
sufficiently  deceived  and  insulted  the  majesty  of  Spain? 
For  his  sake  ye  shall  have  no  quarter.  Tarry  here  another 
instant,  and  thy  corpse  shall  be  swinging  to  the  winds! 
Go,  and  count  over  thy  misgotten  wealth  :  just  census  shall 
be  taken  of  it  \  and ,  if  thou  defraudest  our  holy  impost  by 
one  piece  of  copper,  thou  shalt  sup  with  Dives ! '  Such  was 
my  mission  ,  and  mine  answer.  I  return  home  to  see  the 
ashes  of  mine  house!  Wo  is  me !  " 

"  And  this  we  owe  to  Almamen,  the  pretended  Jew!" 
cried  Isaac ,  from  his  solitary ,  but  not  idle ,  place  at  the 
board. 

"  I  would  this  knife  were  at  his  false  throat!  "  growled 
Elias ,  clutching  his  poniard  with  his  long  bony  fingers. 

"  No  chance  of  that ,"  muttered  Ximen  ^  "  he  will  return 
no  more  to  Granada.  The  vulture  and  the  worm  have 
divided  his  carcass  between  them  ere  this  \  and  (he  added 
inly,  with  a  hideous  smile)  his  house  and  his  gold  have 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  old ,  childless  Ximen." 

"  This  is  a  strange  and  fearful  vault ,"  said  Isaac,  quaffing 
a  large  goblet  of  the  hot  wine  of  the  Vega  \  '*  here  might 
the  witch  of  Endor  have  raised  the  dead.  Yon  door  — 
whither  doth  it  lead?" 

"Through  passages  none,  that  I  know  of,  save  my 
master,  hath  trodden,"  answered  Ximen.  "  I  have  heard 
that  thev  reach  even  to  the  Alhambra.   Come,  worthy 


184  LEILA, 

Elias  !  thy  form  trembles  with  the  cuhJ ,  —  take  this 
wine." 

'*  Hist  I"  said  Ehas,  shaking  from  iimb  to  hmb  :  "  Our 
pursuers  are  upon  us — 1  hear  a  step  I " 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  to  which  Isaac  had  pointed ,  slowly 
opened  ,  and  Almamen  entered  the  vault. 

Had,  indeed,  a  new  witch  of  Endor  conjured  up  the 
dead,  the  apparition  would  not  more  have  startled  and 
appalled  that  goodly  trio.  Elias ,  griping  his  knife,  retreated 
to  the  farthest  end  of  the  vault.  Isaac  dropped  the  goblet  he 
was  about  to  drain ,  and  fell  upon  his  knees*  Ximen ,  alone 
— growing,  if  possible,  a  shade  more  ghastly— retained 
something  of  self-possession  ,  as  he  muttered  to  himself,—- 
"  He  lives !  and  his  gold  is  not  mine  I  Curse  him  !  " 

Seemingly  unconscious  of  the  strange  guests  his  sanc- 
tuary shrouded ,  Almamen  stalked  on  ,  like  a  man  walking 
in  his  sleep. 

•  Ximen  roused  himself— softly  unbarred  the  door  which 
admitted  to  the  upper  apartments ,  and  motioned  to  his 
comrades  to  avail  themselves  of  the  opening  :  but ,  as  Isaac , 
—the  first  to  accept  the  hint— crept  across,  Almamen  fixed 
upon  him  his  terrible  eye  5  and ,  appearing  suddenly  to 
awake  to  consciousness,  shouted  out,  "  Thou  miscreant, 
Ximen !  whom  hast  thou  admitted  to  the  secrets  of  thy 
lord?  Close  the  door — these  men  must  die !  " 

"  Mighty  master ! "  said  Ximen ,  calmly,  '*  is  thy  servant 
to  blame,  that  he  believed  the  rumour  that  declared  thy 
death?  These  men  are  of  our  holy  faith,  whom  I  have 
snatched  from  the  violence  of  the  sacrilegious  and  mad- 
dened mob.  ISo  spot  but  this  seemed  safe  from  the  popular 
frenzy." 

"  Are  ye  Jews?"  said  Almamen.  "  Ah,  yesi  I  know 
ye  now  —  things  of  the  market-place  and  bazaar !  Oh ,  ye 
are  Jews ,  indeed !  Go ,  go  I  Leave  me  I" 

Waiting  no  further  license,  the  three  vanished  ^  but,  ere 
he  quitted  the  vault ,  Elias  turned  back  his  scowling  coun- 


OR   THE    SIEGE    OF   GRANADA.  185 

tenance  on  Almamen,  vvjio  had  sunk  again  into  an  absorbed 
meditation ,  with  a  glance  of  vindictive  ire  —  Almamen 
was  alone. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Ximen  returned ,  to 
seek  his  master  ^  but  the  place  was  again  deserted. 

It  was  midnight  in  the  streets  of  Granada  —  midnight , 
but  not  repose.  The  multitude ,  roused  into  one  of  their 
paroxysms  of  wrath  and  sorrow,  by  the  reflection  that  the 
morrow  was  indeed  the  day  of  their  subjection  to  the 
Christian  foe ,  poured  forth  through  the  streets  to  the 
number  of  twenty  thousand.  It  was  a  wild  and  stormy 
night  •,  those  formidable  gusts  of  wind ,  which  sometimes 
sweep  in  sudden  winter  from  the  snows  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  howled  through  the  tossing  groves  ,  and  along  the 
winding. streets.  But  the  tempest  seemed  to  heighten  ,  as  if 
by  the  sympathy  of  the  elements,  the  popular  storm  and 
whirlwind.  Brandishing  arms  and  torches,  and  gaunt 
with  hunger,  the  dark  forms  of  the  frantic  Moors  seemed 
like  ghouls ,  or  spectres ,  rather  than  mortal  men  ^  as , 
apparently  without  an  object ,  save  that  of  venting  their 
own  disquietude ,  or  exciting  the  fears  of  earth ,  they  swept 
through  the  desolate  city. 

In  the  broad  space  of  the  Vivarrambla ,  the  crowd 
halted  •,  irresolute  in  all  else ,  but  resolved ,  at  least ,  that 
something  for  Granada  should  yet  be  done.  They  w^ere ,  for 
the  most ,  armed  in  their  Moorish  fashion  •,  but  they  were 
wholly  without  leaders  :  not  a  noble,  a  magistrate,  an 
officer,  would  have  dreamed  of  th^  hopeless  enterprise  of 
violating  the  truce  with  Ferdinand.  It  was  a  mere  popular 
tumult—  the  madness  of  a  mob  ^  —  but  not  the  less  formid- 
able, for  it  v*'as  an  eastern  mob,  and  a  mob  with  swords 
and  shafts ,  with  buckler  and  mail  —  the  m^ob  by  which 
oriental  empires  have  been  built  and  overthrown  I  There, 
in  the  splendid  space  that  had  witnessed  the  games  and 
tournaments  of  that  Arab  and  African  chivalry  — there, 
where,  for  many  a  lustrum,  kinixs  had  reviewed  devoted 


186  LEILA, 

and  conquering  armies  —  assembled  these  desperate  men  ^ 
the  loud  winds  agitating  their  tossing  torches  ,  that  strug- 
gled against  the  moonless  night. 

"  Let  us  storm  the  Alhambra  I  "  cried  one  of  the  band  : 
"  let  us  seize  Boabdil ,  and  place  him  in  the  midst  of  us; 
let  us  rush  against  the  Christians ,  buried  in  their  proud 
repose  I " 

"Lelilies,  LeliliesI  —  the  Keys  and  the  Crescent!" 
shouted  the  mob. 

The  shout  died  :  and ,  at  the  verge  of  the  space  was 
suddenly  heard  a  once  familiar,  and  ever  thriUing  voice. 

The  Moors,  who  heard  it,  turned  round  in  amaze  and 
awe  5  and  beheld ,  raised  upon  the  stone  upon  which  the 
criers  or  heralds  had  been  wont  to  utter  the  royal  procla- 
mations ,  the  form  of  Almamen  ,  the  santon ,  whom  they 
had  deemed  already  with  ttje  dead. 

"  Moors,  and  people  of  Granada  I "  he  said,  in  a  solemn, 
but  hollow  voice,  "  I  am  with  ye  still.  Your  monarch 
and  your  heroes  have  deserted  ye ,  but  I  am  with  ye  to 
the  last!  Go  not  to  the  x\lhambra  :  the  fort  is  impene- 
trable—  the  guard ,  faithful.  Night  will  be  wasted ,  and  day 
bring  upon  you  the  Christian  army.  March  to  the  gates ; 
pour  along  the  Vega  ;  descend  at  once  upon  the  foe ! " 

He  spoke ,  and  drew  forth  his  sabre  •,  it  gleamed  in  the 
torch-light  —  the  Moors  bowed  their  heads  in  fanatic 
reverence  —  the  santon  sprang  from  the  stone  ,  and  passed 
into  the  centre  of  the  crowd. 

Then ,  once  more  arose  joyful  shouts.  The  multitude 
had  found  a  leader  worthy  of  their  enthusiasm  \  and  in 
regular  order,  they  formed  themselves  rapidly,  and  swept 
down  the  narrow  streets. 

Swelled  by  several  scattered  groups  of  desultory  ma- 
rauders ( the  ruflians  and  refuse  of  the  city ) ,  the  infidel 
numbers  were  now  but  a  few  furlongs  from  the  great  gate, 
whence  they  had  been  wont  to  issue  on  the  foe.  And  then, 
perhaps ,  had  the  Moors  passed  these  gates ,  and  reached 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAi>ADA.  187 

(he  Christian  encampment ,  lulled  ,  as  it  was  ,  in  security 
and  sleep ,  that  wild  army  of  twenty  thousand  desperate 
men  might  have  saved  Granada ;  and  Spain  might ,  at  this 
day,  possess  the  only  civilised  empire  which  the  faith  of 
Mahomet  ever  founded. 

But  the  evil  star  of  Boabdil  prevailed.  The  news  of  the 
insurrection  in  the  city  reached  him.  Two  aged  men  , 
from  the  lower  city,  arrived  at  the  Alhambra — demanded 
and  obtained  an  audience  ;  and  the  effect  of  that  interview- 
was  instantaneous  upon  Boabdil.  In  the  popular  frenzy  he 
saw  only  a  justifiable  excuse  for  the  Christian  king  to 
break  the  conditions  of  the  treaty,  raze  the  city,  and  ex- 
terminate the  inhabitants.  Touched  by  a  generous  com- 
passion for  his  subjects ,  and  actuated  no  less  by  a  high 
sense  of  kingly  honour,  which  led  him  to  preserve  a  truce 
solemnly  sworn  to ,  he  once  more  mounted  his  cream- 
coloured  charger,  with  the  two  eiders  who  had  sought  him 
by  his  side  ;  and ,  at  the  head  of  his  guard ,  rode  from  the 
Alhambra.  The  sound  of  his  trumpets ,  the  tramp  of  his 
steeds ,  the  voice  of  his  heralds ,  simultaneously  reached  the 
multitude ;  and ,  ere  they  had  leisure  to  decide  their  course, 
the  king  was  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"  What  madness  is  this ,  O  my  people?"  cried  Boabdil , 
spurring  into  the  midst  of  the  throng  .  —  whither  would  ve 
go?" 

"  Against  the  Christian  I  —  against  the  Goth ! "  shouted 
a  thousand  voices.  '*  Lead  us  on  I  The  santon  is  risen  from 
the  dead ,  and  will  ride  by  thy  right  hand  I " 

''  Alas!"  resumed  the  king,  "  ye  would  march  against 
tlie  Christian  king  I  Remember  that  our  hostages  are  in  his 
power ;  remember  that  he  will  desire  no  better  excuse  to 
level  Granada  with  the  dust ,  and  put  you  and  your  children 
to  the  sword.  We  have  made  such  treaty  as  never  yet  was 
made  between  foe  and  foe.  Your  lives ,  laws ,  wealth  —  all 
are  saved.  Nothing  is  lost,  save  the  crown  of  Boabdil.  I 
am  the  only  sufferer.  So  be  it.   My  evil  star  brought  on  you 


188  *  LEIL\, 

these  evil  destinies  :  without  me ,  you  may  revive,  and  be 
once  more  a  nation.  Yield  to  fate  to-day,  and  you  may 
grasp  her  proudest  awards  to-morrow.  To  succumb  is  not 
to  be  subdued.  But,  go  forth  against  the  Christians  ,  and 
if  ye  win  one  battle ,  it  is  but  to  incur  a  more  terrible  war^ 
if  you  lose ,  it  is  not  honourable  capitulation  ,  but  certain 
extermination  to  which  you  rush  I  Be  persuaded,  and 
listen  once  again  to  your  king." 

The  crowd  were  moved ,  were  softened ,  were  half  con- 
vinced. They  turned ,  in  silence,  towards  their  santon  ;  and 
Almamen  did  not  shrink  the  appeal.  Little  as  he  cared  for 
the  Moors ,  his  hatred  for  the  Christians  spurred  him  on  tQ 
any  measure  that  might  redden  the  earth  with  their  abhor- 
red blood.   He  stood  forth ,  confronting  the  king. 

*'  King  of  Granada ! "  he  cried  aloud ,  "  behold  thy  friend 
—  thy  prophet !   Lo  I  I  assure  you  victory  I " 

"  Hold !  "  interrupted  Boabdil ,  ''  thou  hast  deceived  and 
betrayed  me  too  long  I  Moors  I  knowest  thou  this  pretended 
santon  ?  He  is  of  no  Moslem  creed.  He  is  a  hound  of  Israel,, 
who  would  sell  you  to  the  best  bidder.  Slay  him  I " 

"  Ha!  "  cried  Almamen  ,  "  and  who  is  my  accuser?" 

"Thy  servant  —  behold  him!"  At  these  words,  the 
royal  guards  lifted  their  torches  ,  and  the  glare  fell,  redly, 
on  the  death-like  features  of  Ximen. 

"  Light  of  the  world!  there  be  other  Jews  that  know  him," 
said  the  traitor. 

"  Will  ye  suffer  a  Jew  to  lead  ye ,  O  race  of  the  Prophet?'* 
cried  the  king. 

The  crowd  stood  confused  and  bewildered :  Almamen  felt 
his  hour  was  come  \  he  remained  silent ,  his  arms  folded , 
his  brow  erect. 

"  Be  there  any  of  the  tribe  of  Moisa  amongst  the  crowd  ? " 
cried  Boabdil,  pursuing  his  advantage;  "if  so,  let  them 
approach  and  testify  what  they  know."  Forth  came  — 
not  from  the  crowd  ,  but  from  amongst  Boabdil's  train  ,  a 
well-known  Israelite  : 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADV.  180 

''  We  disown  this  man  of  hiood  and  fraud ,"  said  Elias, 
bowing  to  the  earth;  "  but  he  was  of  our  creed." 

"Speak,  false  santon !  art  thou  dumb?"  cried  the 
king. 

"A  curse  light  on  thee,  dull  fool  I  "  cried  Almamen , 
fiercely.  "  What  matters  who  the  instrument  that  would 
have  restored  to  thee  thy  throne  ?  Yes  I  I ,  who  have  ruled 
thy  councils,  who  have  led  thine  armies ,  I  am  of  the  race 
of  Joshua  and  of  Samuel — and  the  Lord  of  Hosts  is  the  God 
of  Almamen  I " 

A  shudder  ran  through  that  mighty  multitude  :  but  the 
looks,  the  mien ,  and  the  voice  of  the  man  ,  awed  them  ^ 
and  not  a  weapon  was  raised  against  him.  He  might ,  even 
then  ,  have  passed  scathless  through  the  crowd  :  he  might 
have  borne  to  other  climes  his  burning  passions  and  his 
torturing  woes  :  but  his  care  for  life  was  past  5  he  desired 
but  to  curse  his  dupes ,  and  to  die.  He  paused ,  looked 
round,  and  burst  into  a  laugh  of  such  bitter  and  haughty 
scorn  5  as  the  tempted  of  earth  may  hear,  in  the  halls  below, 
from  the  lips  of  Eblis. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "  such  I  am  !  I  have  been  your 
idol  and  your  lord  ^  I  may  be  your  victim  ,  but ,  in  death ,  I 
am  your  vanquisher.  Christian  and  Moslem  alike  my  foe,  I 
would  have  trampled  upon  both.  But  the  Christian ,  wiser 
than  you  ,  gave  me  smooth  words  5  and  I  would  have  sold 
ye  to  his  power  :  wickeder  than  you ,  he  deceived  me , 
and  1  would  have  crushed  him .  that  I  might  have  con- 
tinued to  deceive  and  rule  the  puppets  that  ye  call  your 
chiefs.  But  they  for  whom  I  toiled ,  and  laboured ,  and 
sinned  —  for  whom  I  surrendered  peace  and  ease,  yea, 
and  a  daughter's  person  and  a  daughter's  blood  —  they 
have  betrayed  me  to  your  hands ,  and  the  Curse  of  Old 
rests  with  them  evermore  —  Amen !  The  disguise  is 
rent :  Almamen ,  the  santon ,  is  the  son  of  Issachar  the 
Jew ! " 

More  might  he  have  said ,  but  the  spell  was  broken. 


190  LEILA., 

With  a  ferocious  yell  those  living  waves  of  the  multitude 
rushed  over  the  stern  fanatic  ^  six  cimeters  passed  through 
him ,  and  he  fell  not :  at  the  seventh  he  was  a  corpse. 
Trodden  in  the  clay  —  then  whirled  aloft  —  limb  torn  from 
limb ,  —  ere  a  man  could  have  drawn  breath  nine  times  , 
scarce  a  vestige  of  the  human  form  was  left  to  the  mangled 
and  bloody  clay. 

One  victim  sufficed  to  slake  the  wrath  of  the  crowd. 
They  gathered  like  wild  beasts,  whose  hunger  is  ap- 
peased ,  around  their  monarch ,  who  in  vain  had  endea- 
voured to  stay  their  summary  revenge ,  and  who  now,  pale 
and  breathless ,  shrunk  from  the  passions  he  had  excited. 
He  faltered  forth  a  few  words  of  remonstrance  and  exhorta- 
tion ,  turned  the  head  of  his  steed ,  and  took  his  way  to 
his  palace. 

The  crowd  dispersed ,  but  not  yet  to  their  homes.  The 
crimes  of  Almamen  worked  against  his  whole  race.  Some 
rushed  to  the  Jews'  quarter ,  which  they  set  on  fire*,  others 
to  the  lonely  mansion  of  Almamen. 

Ximen ,  on  quitting  the  king ,  had  been  before  the  mob. 
Not  anticipating  such  an  effect  of  the  popular  rage,  he  had 
hastened  to  the  house ,  which  he  now  deemed  at  length 
his  own.  He  had  just  reached  the  treasury  of  his  dead  lord 
—  he  had  just  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  massive  ingots  and 
glittering  gems  :  in  the  lust  of  his  heart  he  had  just  cried 
aloud ,  "  And  these  are  mine !  "  when  he  heard  the  roar  of 
the  mob  below  the  wall ,  —  when  he  saw  the  glare  of  their 
torches  against  the  casement.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
shrieked  aloud,  "  I  am  the  man  that  exposed  the  Jew!  " 
the  wild  winds  scattered  his  words  over  a  deafened  au- 
dience. Driven  from  his  chamber  by  the  smoke  and 
name,  afraid  to  venture  forth  amongst  the  crowd,  the 
miser  loaded  himself  with  the  most  precious  of  the  store  : 
he  descended  the  steps ,  he  bent  his  way  to  the  secret 
vault,  when  suddenly  the  floor,  pierced  by  the  flames, 
crashed  under  him,  and  the  fire  rushed  upin  a  fiercer  and 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRAIVADA.  191 

more  rapid  volume,  as  his  death-shriek  broke  through  that 
lurid  shroud. 

Such  were  the  principal  events  of  the  last  night  of  the 
Moorish  dynasty  in  Granada. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Day  dawned  upon  Granada  :  the  populace  had  sought 
their  homes ,  and  a  profound  quiet  wrapped  the  streets , 
save  where,  from  the  fires  committed  in  the  late  tumult, 
was  yet  heard  the  crash  of  roofs ,  or  the  crackle  of  the  light 
and  fragrant  timber  employed  in  those  pavilions  of  the 
summer.  The  manner  in  which  the  mansions  of  Granada 
were  built,  each  separated  from  the  other  by  extensive 
gardens,  fortunately  prevented  the  flames  from  extending. 
Rut  the  inhabitants  cared  so  little  for  the  hazard ,  that  not 
a  single  guard  remained  to  watch  the  result.  Now  and 
then  ,  some  miserable  forms  in  the  Jewish  gown  might  be 
seen  cowering  by  the  ruins  of  their  house ,  like  the  souls 
that,  according  to  Plato ,  watch  in  charnels  over  their  own 
mouldering  bodies.  Day  dawned ,  and  the  beams  of  the 
winter  sun ,  smiling  away  the  clouds  of  the  past  night , 
played  cheerily  on  the  murmuring  waves  of  the  Xenil  and 
the  Darro. 

Alone  ,  upon  a  balcony  commanding  that  stately  land- 
scape, stood  the  last  of  the  Moorish  kings.  He  had  sought 
to  bring  to  his  aid  all  the  lessons  of  the  philosophy  he  had 
cultivated. 

"  What  are  we, "  thought  the  musing  prince ,  "  that  we 
should  fill  the  world  with  ourselves  —  we  kings !  Earth 
resounds  with  the  crash  of  my  falling  throne  :  on  the  ear  of 
races  unborn  the  echo  will  live  prolonged.    But  what  have 


192  LEILA, 

I  iost?  nothing  that  was  necessary  to  my  happiness,  my 
repose  \  nothing  save  the  source  of  all  my  wretchedness  , 
the  Marah  of  my  Hfe !  Shall  1  less  enjoy  heaven  and  earth, 
or  thought  or  action ,  or  man's  more  material  luxuries  of 
food  or  sleep  —  the  common  and  the  cheap  desires  of  all? 
At  the  worst ,  1  sink  but  to  a  level  with  chiefs  and  princes : 
I  am  but  levelled  with  those  whom  the  multitude  admire 
and  envy.  Arouse  thee,  then  ,  O  heart  within  me !  many  and 
deep  emotions  of  sorrow  or  of  joy  are  yet  left  to  break  the 
monotony  of  existence." 

He  paused  •,  and  ,  at  the  distance  ,  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
lonely  minarets  of  the  distant  and  deserted  palace  of  Muza 
Ben  AbilGazan. 

''Thou  wert  right,  then,"  resumed  the  king^  "thou 
wert  right ,  brave  spirit ,  not  to  pity  Boabdil :  but  not  be- 
cause death  was  in  his  power  \  man's  soul  is  greater  than 
his  fortunes ,  and  there  is  majesty  in  a  life  that  towers  above 
the  ruins  that  fall  around  its  path."  He  turned  away,  and 
his  cheek  suddenly  grew  pale  •,  for  he  heard ,  in  the  courts 
below ,  the  tread  of  hoofs ,  the  bustle  of  preparation  :  it 
was  the  hour  for  his  departure.  His  philosophy  vanished  : 
he  groaned  aloud,  and  re-entered  the  chamber,  just 
as  his  vizier  and  the  chief  of  his  guard  broke  upon  his 
solitude. 

The  old  vizier  attempted  to  speak ,  but  his  voice  failed 
him. 

"  It  is  time ,  then ,  to  depart ,"  said  Boabdil ,  with 
calmness  •,  *'  let  it  be  so  :  render  up  the  palace  and  the 
fortress ,  and  join  thy  friend ,  no  more  thy  monarch ,  in  his 
new  home." 

He  stayed  not  for  reply  :  he  hurried  on,  descended  to  the 
court ,  flung  himself  on  his  barb  ,  and ,  with  a  small  and 
saddened  train ,  passed  through  the  gate  which  we  yet 
survey ,  by  a  blackened  and  crumbling  tower ,  overgrown 
with  vines  and  ivy  \  thence ,  amidst  gardens ,  now  apper- 
taining to  the  convent  of  the  victor  faith ,  he  took  his 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRANADA.  193 

mournful  and  unwitnessed  way.  When  he  came  to  the 
middle  of  the  hill  that  rises  above  those  gardens  ,  the  steel 
of  the  Spanish  afijiour  gleamed  upon  him ,  as  the  detach- 
ment sent  to  occupy  the  palace  marched  over  the  summit 
in  steady  order  and  profound  silence. 

At  the  head  of  this  vanguard  rode  ,  upon  a  snow-white 
palfrey,  the  Bishop  of  Avila,  followed  by  a  long  train  of 
barefooted  monks.  They  halted  as  Boabdil  approached , 
and  the  grave  bishop  saluted  him  with  the  air  of  one  who 
addresses  an  infidel  and  an  inferior.  With  the  quick  sense 
of  dignity  common  to  the  great ,  and  yet  more  to  the  fallen, 
Boabdil  felt ,  but  resented  not ,  the  pride  of  the  ecclesiastic. 
"  Go ,  Christian  ,"  said  he  ,  mildly,  "  the  gates  of  the  Al- 
hambra  are  open ,  and  Allah  has  bestowed  the  palace  and 
the  city  upon  your  king  :  may  his  virtues  atone  the  faults  of 
Boabdil!  "  So  saying ,  and  waiting  no  answer,  he  rode  on  , 
without  looking  to  the  right  or  left.  The  Spaniards  also 
pursued  their  way.  The  sun  had  fairly  risen  above  the 
mountains ,  when  Boabdil  and  his  train  beheld ,  from  the 
eminence  on  which  they  were,  the  whole  armament  of 
Spain  :  and  at  the  same  moment ,  louder  than  the  tramp 
of  horse,  or  the  flash  of  arms,  was  heard  distinctly  the 
solemn  chaunt  of  Te  Deum  ,  which  preceded  the  blaze  of 
the  unfurled  and  lofty  standards.  Boabdil ,  himself  still 
silent,  heard  the  groans  and  exclamations  of  his  train  ^ 
he  turned  to  cheer  or  chide  them ,  and  then  saw ,  from 
his  own  watch-tower,  with  the  sun  shining  full  upon 
its  pure  and  dazzling  surface ,  the  silver  cross  of  Spain. 
His  Alhambra  was  already  in  the  hands  of  the  foe^ 
while ,  beside  that  badge  of  the  holy  war,  waved  the  gay 
and  flaunting  flag  of  St.  Jago,  the  canonised  ]\Iars  of  the 
chivalry  of  Spain. 

At  that  sight  the  king's  voice  died  within  him  :  he  gave 
the  rein  to  his  barb ,  impatient  to  close  the  fatal  ceremo- 
nial, and  did  not  slacken  his  speed  till  almost  within  bowshot 
of  the  first  ranks  of  the  armv.    ZS'ever  had  Christian  war 


194  LEILA,. 

assumed  a  more  splendid  and  imposing  aspect.  Far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  ,  extended  the  glittering  and  gorgeous  li- 
nes of  that  goodly  power,  bristling  >YitU  Sunlit  spears  and 
blazoned  banners  •,  while  beside ,  murmured  and  glowed 
and  danced  the  silver  and  laughing  Xenil ,  careless  what 
lord  should  possess,  for  his  little  day,  the  banks  that  bloom- 
ed by  its  everlasting  course.  By  a  small  mosque  halted  the 
nower  of  the  army.  Surrounded  by  the  archpriests  of  that 
mighty  hierarchy,  the  peers  and  princes  of  a  court  that  ri- 
valled the  Ptolands  of  Charlemagne ,  was  seen  the  kingly 
form  of  Ferdinand  himself,  with  Isabel  at  his  right  hand, 
and  the  high-born  dames  of  Spain  •,  relieving ,  with  their 
gay  colours  and  sparkling  gems ,  the  sterner  splendour  of 
the  crested  helmet  and  polished  mail. 

Within  sight  of  the  royal  group  Boabdil  halted ,  com- 
posed his  aspect  so  as  best  to  conceal  his  soul ,  —  and ,  a 
little  in  advance  of  his  scanty  train  ,  but  never,  m  mien  and 
majesty,  more  a  king,  the  son  of  Abdallah  met  his  haughty 
conqueror. 

•At  the  sight  of  his  princely  countenance  and  golden  hair, 
his  comely  and  commanding  beauty,  made  more  touching 
by  youth,  a  thrill  of  compassionate  admiration  ran  through 
that  assembly  of  the  brave  and  fair.  Ferdinand  and  Isabel 
slowly  advanced  to  meet  their  late  rival  —  their  new  sub- 
ject ^  and  ,  as  Boabdil  would  have  dismounted,  the  Spanish 
king  placed  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Brother  and 
prince  ,"  said  he  ,  "  forget  thy  sorrows  ^  and  may  our 
friendship  hereafter  console  thee  for  reverses  ,  against 
which  thou  hast  contended  as  a  hero  and  a  king  —  resist- 
ing man ,  but  resigned  at  length  to  God  I " 

Boabdil  did  no  affect  to  return  this  bitter,  but  uninten- 
tional ,  mockery  of  compliment.  He  bowed  his  head ,  and 
remained  a  moment  silent  ^  then  motioning  to  his  train , 
four  of  his  officers  approached,  and,  kneeling  beside  Fer- 
dinand ,  proffered  to  him ,  upon  a  silver  buckler,  the  keys 
of  the'citv. 


OR    THE    SIEGE    OF    GRA.XAUA.  195 

"  O  king  !"  then  said  Boabdil,  "  accept  the  keys  of  the 
last  hold  which  has  resisted  the  arms  of  Spain  I  The  em- 
pire of  the  Moslem  is  no  more.  Thine  are  (he  city  and 
the  people  of  Granada  :  yielding  to  thy  prowess  ,  they  yet 
conflde  in  thy  mercy.  " 

"They  do  well,"  said  the  king  j  "  our  promise#%y^ll 
not  be  broken.  But ,  since  we  know  the  gallantry  of  Moor- 
ish cavaliers  ,  not  to  us  ,  but  to  gentler  hands ,  shall  the 
keys  of  Granada  be  surrendered." 

Thus  saying  ,  Ferdinand  gave  the  keys  to  Isabel ,  who 
would  have  addressed  some  soothing  flatteries  to  Eoabdil  : 
but  the  emotion  and  excitement  were  too  much  for  her 
compassionate  heart,  heroine  and  queen  though  she  was  5 
and  ,  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  upon  the  calm  and  pale  fea- 
tures of  the  fallen  monarch ,  the  tears  gushed  from  them 
irresistibly,  and  her  voice  died  in  murmurs.  A  faint  flush 
overspread  the  features  of  Boabdil ,  and  there  was  a  mo- 
mentary pause  of  embarrassment ,  which  the  Moor  was 
the  first  to  break. 

"  Fair  queen , "  said  he ,  with  mournful  and  pathetic  dig- 
nity, "thou  canst  read  the  heart  that  thy  generous  sym- 
pathy touches  and  subdues  :  this  is  thy  last,  nor  least, 
glorious  conquest.  But  I  detain  ye  :  let  not  my  aspect 
cloud  your  triumph.    Suffer  me  to  say  farewell." 

"  May  we  not  hint  at  the  blessed  possibility  of  conver- 
sion?" whispered  the  pious  queen  ,  through  her  tears,  to 
her  royal  consort. 

"  Not  now  —  not  now,  by  Saint  Jago  I "  returned  Ferdi- 
nand, quickly,  and  in  the  same  tone,  willing  himiself  to 
conclude  a  painful  conference.  He  then  added ,  aloud , 
"  Go ,  piy  brother,  and  fair  fortune  with  you !  Forget  the 
past." 

Boabdil  smiled  bitterly,  saluted  the  royal  pair  with  pro- 
found and  silent  reverence,  and  rode  slowly  on,  leaving  the 
army  below,  as  he  ascended  the  path  that  led  to  his  new  prin- 


196  LEILA, 

cipality  beyond  the  Alpuxarras.  As  tlie  trees  snatched  the 
Moorish  cavalcade  from  the  view  of  the  king ,  Ferdinand 
ordered  the  army  to  recommence  its  march  ^  and  trumpet 
and  cymbal  presently  sent  their  music  to  the  ear  of  the 
Moslems. 

Bprt3dil  spurred  on  at  full  speed ,  till  his  panting  charger 
halted  at  the  little  village  wiiere  his  mother,  his  slaves,  and 
his  faithful  Amine  ( sent  on  before ) ,  awaited  him.  Joining 
these ,  he  proceeded  without  delay  upon  his  melancholy 
path. 

They  ascended  that  eminence  which  is  the  pass  into  the 
Alpuxarras.  From  its  height,  the  vale,  the  rivers,  the 
spires,  the  towers  of  Granada  ,  broke  gloriously  upon  the 
view  of  the  little  band.  They  halted ,  mechanically  and 
abruptly  :  every  eye  was  turned  to  the  beloved  scene.  The 
proud  shame  of  baffled  warriors  ,  the  tender  memories  of 
home  -—  of  childhood  —  of  fatherland  ,  swelled  every 
heart,  and  gushed  from  every  eye.  Suddenly,  the  distant 
boom  of  artillery  broke  from  the  citadel ,  and  rolled  along 
the  sunlit  valley  and  crystal  river.  An  universal  wail  burst 
from  the  exiles  ^  it  smote  —  it  overpowered  the  heart  of 
the  ill-starred  king,  in  vain  seeking  to  wrap  himself  in  East- 
ern pride  or  stoical  philosophy.  The  tears  gushed  from 
his  eyes,  and  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Then  said  his  haughty  mother,  gazing  at  him  with  hard 
and  disdainful  eyes,  in  that  unjust  and  memorable  reproach 
which  history  has  preserved —  "  Ay,  weep,  like  a  woman, 
over  what  thou  couldst  not  defend  like  a  man  I " 

Boabdil  raised  his  countenance,  with  indignant  majesty, 
when  he  felt  his  hand  tenderly  clasped ,  and  ,  turning 
round,  saw  Amine  by  his  side.  ..     . 

"  Heed  her  not  I  heed  her  not ,  Boabdil  I "  said  the  slave , 
"  never  didst  thou  seem  to  me  more  noble  than  in  that 
sorrow.  Thou  wert  a  hero  for  thy  throne ;  but  feel  still , 
O  light  of  mine  eyes,  a  woman  for  thy  people !  " 


OK    THE    SIEGI'    Of7gRAI\  A  DA.  197 

"  God  is  great !  "  said  Boabdil ,  "and  God  comforts  me 
still !  Thy  lips ,  which  never  flattered  me  in  my  power, 
have  no  reproach  for  me  in  my  affliction  !  " 

He  said ,  and  smiled  upon  Amine  —  it  was^^er  hour  of 
triumph. 

The  band  wound  slowly  on  through  the  solitary  defiles  : 
and  that  place  where  the  king  wept,  and  the  woman  sooth- 
ed, is  still  called  "El  ultimo  suspiro  del  Moro,"  —  The 

LAST  SIGH  OF  THE  MoOR. 


CALDERON,  THE  COURTIER. 


CALDERON,  THE  COURTIER; 

A    TALE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    ANTECHAMBER. 


The  Tragi-Comedy  of  Court  Intrigue ,  which  had  ever  ^ 
found  its  principal  theatre  in  Spain  since  the  accession  of 
the  House  of  Austria  to  the  throne ,  was  represented  with 
singular  complication  of  incident,  and  brilliancy  of  perform- 
ance, during  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Third.  That  mo- 
narch ,  weak,  indolent ,  and  superstitious,  left  the  reins  of 
government  in  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of  Lerma.  The  Duke 
of  Lerma,  in  his  turn,  mild,  easy,  ostentatious ,  and  shame- 
fully corrupt,  resigned  the  authority  he  had  thus  re- 
ceived to  Roderigo  Calderon  ,  an  able  and  resolute  upstart, 
whom  nature  and  fortune  seemed  equally  to  favour  and 
endow.  But ,  not  more  to  his  talents ,  which  were  great , 
than  to  the  policy  of  religious  persecution  which  he  had 
supported  and  enforced ,  Roderigo  Calderon  owed  his  pro- 
motion. The  king  and  the  inquisition  had,  some  years 
before  our  story  opens,  resolved  upon  the  general  expulsion 
of  the  Moriscos — the  wealthiest ,  the  most  active ,  the  most 
industrious  portion  of  the  population. 

"I  would  sooner,"  said  the  bigoted  king— and  his  words 
were  hallowed  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  church  —  "de- 
populate my  kingdom  than  suffer  it  to  harbour  a  single 
infidel." 


202  CALDKRO>'. 

The  Duke  de  Lerma  entered  into  the  scheme  that  lost  to 
Spain  many  of  her  most  valuable  subjects ,  with  the  zeal  ol" 
a  pious  Catholic,  expectant  of  the  cardinal's  hat  which  he 
afterwards  obtained.  But  to  this  scheme  Calderon  brought 
an  energy,  a  decision,  —  a  vehemence ,  and  sagacity  of  ha- 
tred ,  that  savoured  more  of  personal  vengeance  than  reli- 
gious persecution.  His  perseverance  in  this  goad  work  es- 
tablished him  firmly  in  the  king's  favour  ^  and  in  this  he 
was  supported  by  the  friendship  not  only  of  Lerma,  but  of 
Fray  Louis  de  Aliaga  ,  a  renowned  Jesuit ,  and  confessor 
to  the  king.  The  disasters  and  distresses  occasioned  by 
this  barbarous  crusade,  which  crippled  the  royal  revenues, 
and  seriously  injured  the  estates  of  the  principal  barons , 
from  whose  lands  the  industrious  and  intelligent  Moriscos 
,  were  expelled ,  ultimately  concentred  a  deep  and  general 
hatred  upon  Calderon.  But  his  extraordinary  address  and 
vigorous  energies ,  his  perfect  mastery  of  the  science  of  in- 
trigue, not  only  sustained  ,  but  continued  to  augment ,  his 
powder.  Though  the  king  was  yet  in  the  prime  of  middle 
age,  his  health  was  infirm  and  his  life  precarious.  Calderon 
had  contrived,  wiiile  preserving  the  favour  of  the  reigning 
monarch  ,  to  establish  himself  as  the  friend  and  companion 
of  the  heir  apparent.  In  this  ,  indeed  ,  he  had  affected  to 
yield  to  the  policy  of  the  king  himself-,  for  Philip  the  Third 
had  a  wholesome  terror  of  the  possible  ambition  of  his  son, 
who  early  evinced  talents  which  might  have  been  formid- 
able ,  but  for  passions  which  urged  him  into  the  most  vi- 
cious pleasures ,  and  the  most  extravagant  excesses.  The 
craft  of  the  king  was  satisfied  by  the  device  of  placing  about 
the  person  of  the  infant  one  devoted  to  himself^  nor  did 
his  conscience ,  pious  as  he  was  .  revolt  at  the  profligacy 
which  his  favourite  was  said  to  participate  and ,  perhaps,  to 
encourage-,  since,  the  less  popular  the  prince,  the  more 
l)Owerful  the  king. 

But,  all  this  while,  there  was  formed  a  powerful  cabal 
against  both  the  Duke  of  Lerma  and  Don  Roderigo  Cal- 


CALDERON.  20^ 

deroii ,  in  a  quarter  Nvhere  it  might  least  have  been  anti- 
cipated. The  cardinal  duke ,  naturally  anxious  to  cement 
and  perpetuate  his  authority,  had  placed  his  son  ,  the 
Duke  d'Uzeda ,  in  a  post  that  gave  him  constant  access  to 
the  monarch.  The  prospect  of  power  made  Uzeda  eager 
to  seize  at  once  upon  all  its  advantages:  and  it  became 
the  object  of  his  life  to  supplant  his  father.  This  would 
have  been  easy  enough  but  for  the  genius  and  vigilance 
of  Calderon ,  whom  he  hated  as  a  rival ,  disdained  as 
an  upstart ,  and  dreaded  as  a  foe.  Philip  was  soon  aware 
of  the  contest  between  the  two  factions,  but,  in  the  true 
spirit  of  Spanish  kingcraft,  he  took  care  to  play  one  against 
the  other.  Nor  could  Calderon  ,  powerful  as- he  was ,  dare 
openly  to  seek  the  ruin  of  Uzeda  •,  while  Uzeda ,  more  rash 
and,  perhaps ,  more  ingenuous ,  entered  into  a  thousand 
plots  for  the  downfal  of  the  prime  favourite. 

The  frequent  missions,  principally  into  Portugal,  in  which 
of  late  Calderon  had  been  employed ,  had  allowed lUzeda 
to  encroach  more  and  more  upon  the  royal  confidence : 
while  the  very  means  which  Don  Roderigo  had  adopted  to 
perpetuate  his  influence,  by  attaching  himself  to  the  prince, 
necessarily  distracted  his  attention  from  the  intrigues  of  his 
rival.  Perhaps ,  indeed ,  the  greatness  of  Calderon's  abili- 
ties made  him  too  arrogantly  despise  the  machinations  of 
the  duke ,  who ,  though  not  without  some  capacities  as  a 
courtier,  was  wholly  incompetent  to  those  duties  of  a  mi- 
nister on  which  he  had  set  his  ambition  and  his  grasp. 

Such  was  the  state  of  parties  in  the  court  of  Philip  the 
Third,  at  the  time  in  which  we  commence  our  narrative  in 
the  antechamber  of  Don  Roderigo  Calderon. 

"  It  is  not  to  be  endured ,"  said  Don  Felix  de  Castro ,  an 
old  noble,  whose  sharp  features  and  diminutive  stature 
proclaimed  the  purity  of  his  blood  and  the  antiquity  of  his 
descent. 

"  Just  three-quarters  of  an  hour  and  live  minutes  have  I 
waited  for  audience  to  a  fellow  who  would  once  have  thought 


204  CALDERON. 

himself  honoured  if  I  had  ordered  him  to  call  my  coach  ,'^ 
said  Don  Diego  Sarmiento  de  Mendoza. 

"  Then ,  if  it  chafe  you  so  much ,  gentlemen,  why  come 
you  here  at  all?  I  dare  say,  Don  Roderigo  can  dispense  with 
your  attendance." 

This  was  said  bluntly  by  a  young  noble  of  good  mien  , 
whose  impetuous  and  irritable  temperament  betrayed  itself 
by  an  impatience  of  gesture  and  motion  unusual  amongst 
his  countrymen.  Sometimes  he  walked ,  with  uneven 
strides ,  to  and  fro  the  apartments ,  unheeding  the  stately 
groups  whom  he  jostled ,  or  the  reproving  looks  that  he 
attracted ;  sometimes  he  paused  abruptly,  raised  his  eyes  , 
muttered ,  twitched  his  cloak ,  or  played  with  his  sword- 
knot-,  or,  turning  abruptly  round  upon  his  solemn  neigh- 
bours, as  some  remark  on  his  strange  bearing  struck  his 
ear,  brought  the  blood  to  many  a  haughty  cheek  by  his 
stern  gaze  of  defiance  and  disdain.  It  was  easy  to  perceive 
that  this  personage  belonged  to  the  tribe  —  rash ,  vain,  and 
young  —  who  are  eager  to  take  ofFence ,  and  to  provoke 
quarrel.  Nevertheless ,  the  cavalier  had  noble  and  great 
qualities.  A  stranger  to  courts ,  in  the  camp  he  was  re- 
nowned for  a  chivalrous  generosity  and  an  extravagant  va- 
lour, that  emulated  the  ancient  heroes  of  Spanish  romaunt 
and  song.  His  was  a  dawn  that  promised  a  hot  noon  and  a 
glorious  eve.  The  name  of  this  brave  soldier  w^as  Martin 
Fonseca.  He  was  of  an  ancient  but  impoverished  house  , 
and  related ,  in  a  remote  degree ,  to  the  Duke  de  Lerma. 
In  his  earliest  youth  he  had  had  cause  to  consider  himself 
the  heir  to  a  wealthy  uncle  on  his  mother's  side  ^  and  with 
those  expectations^  while  still  but  a  boy,  he  had  been  in- 
vited to  court  by  the  cardinal  duke.  Here ,  however ,  the 
rude  and  blunt  sincerity  of  his  bearing  had  so  greatly  shock- 
ed the  formal  hypocrisies  of  the  court ,  and  had  more  than 
once  so  seriously  offended  the  minister,  that  his  powerful 
kinsman  gave  up  all  thought  of  pushing  Fonseca's  fortunes 
at  Madrid  ,  and  meditated  some  plausible  excuse  for  ba- 


CALDERON.  205 

iiishing  him  from  court.  At  this  time ,  the  rich  uncle ,  hi- 
therto childless ,  married  a  second  time ,  and  was  Messed 
with  an  heir.  It  was  no  longer  necessary  to  keep  terms 
with  Don  Martin ;  and  he  suddenly  received  an  order  to 
join  the  army  on  the  frontiers.  Here  his  courage  soon  dis- 
tinguished him  ^  but  his  honest  nature  still  stood  in  the  way 
of  his  promotion.  Several  years  elapsed,  and  his  rise  had 
been  inOnitely  slower  than  that  of  men  not  less  inferior  to 
him  in  birth  than  merit.  Some  months  since,  he  had  re- 
paired to  Madrid ,  to  enforce  his  claims  upon  the  govern- 
ment-, but,  instead  of  advancing  his  suit,  he  had  contrived 
to  effect  a  serious  breach  with  the  cardinal ,  and  been 
abruptly  ordered  back  to  the  camp.  Once  more  he  ap- 
peared at  Madrid  ;  but  this  time  it  was  not  to  plead  desert, 
and  demand  honours. 

In  any  country  but  Spain  under  the  reign  of  Philip  the 
Third ,  Martin  Fonseca  would  have  risen  early  to  high  for- 
tunes. But ,  as  we  have  said ,  his  talents  were  not  those  of 
the  flatterer  or  the  hypocrite  ^  and  it  was  a  matter  of  asto- 
nishment to  the  calculators  round  him  to  see  Don  Martin 
Fonseca  in  the  anteroom  of  Pvoderigo  Calderon ,  Count 
Oliva ,  Marquis  de  Siete  Iglesias ,  secretary  to  the  king ,  and 
parasite  and  favourite  of  the  Infant  of  Spain. 

"Why  come  you  here  at  all?'"  repeated  the  young 
soldier. 

"  Senor,"  answered  Don  Felix  de  Castro,  with  great 
gravity,  "we  have  business  with  Don  Pvoderigo.  Men  of 
our  station  must  attend  to  the  affairs  of  the  state  no  matter 
by  whom  transacted." 

"  That  is ,  you  must  crawl  on  your  knees  to  ask  for  pen- 
sions and  governorships ,  and  transact  the  affairs  of  the 
state  by  putting  your  hands  into  its  coffers." 

"  Seiior  I "  growled  Don  Felix,  angrily,  as  his  hand  played 
with  his  sword-belt. 

"Tush I"  said  the  young  man,  scornfully,  turning  on 
iiis  heel. 


200  CALDERON. 

The  folding-doors  were  thrown  open ,  and  all  conversa- 
tion ceased  at  the  entrance  of  Don  Roderigo  Calderon. 

This  remarkable  personage  had  risen  from  the  situation 
of  a  confidential  scribe  to  the  Duke  of  Lerma ,  to  the  nomi- 
nal rank  of  secretary  to  the  king  —  to  the  real  station  of 
autocrat  of  Spain.  The  birth  of  the  favourite  of  fortune 
was  exceedingly  obscure.  He  had  long  affected  to  conceal 
it  ^  but ,  when  he  found  curiosity  had  proceeded  into  serious 
investigation  of  his  origin ,  he  had  suddenly  appeared  to 
make  a  virtue  of  necessity  ^  proclaimed  ,  of  his  own  accord , 
that  his  father  was  a  common  soldier  of  Valladolid ;  and  even 
invited  to  Madrid ,  and  lodged  in  his  own  palace  ,  his  low- 
horn  progenitor.  This  prudent  frankness  disarmed  malevo- 
lence on  the  score  of  birth.  But ,  when  the  old  soldier  died, 
rumours  went  abroad  that  he  had  confessed ,  on  his  death- 
bed ,  that  he  was  not  in  any  way  related  to  Calderon  ^  that 
he  had  submitted  to  an  imposture  which  secured  to  his  old 
age  so  respectable  and  luxurious  an  asylum ;  and  that  he 
knew  not  for  what  end  Calderon  had  forced  upon  him  the 
honours  of  spurious  parentship.  This  tale ,  which ,  ridiculed 
by  most ,  was  yet  believed  by  some  ,  gave  rise  to  darker  re- 
ports concerning  one  on  whom  the  eyes  of  all  Spain  were 
fixed.  It  was  supposed  that  he  had  some  motive,  beyond 
that  of  shame  at  their  meanness,  to  conceal  his  real  origin 
and  name.  What  could  be  that  motive ,  if  not  the  dread  of 
discovery  for  some  black  and  criminal  offence ,  connected 
with  his  earlier  youth ,  and  for  which  he  feared  the  prose- 
cution of  the  law?  They  who  affected  most  to  watch  his  ex- 
terior, averred  that  often ,  in  his  gayest  revels  and  proudest 
triumphs ,  his  brow  would  lower  —  his  countenance  change 
—  and  it  was  only  by  a  visible  and  painful  effort  that  he 
could  restore  his  mind  to  its  self-possession.  His  career, 
which  evinced  an  utter  contempt  for  the  ordinary  rules  and 
scruples  that  curb  even  adventurers  into  a  seeming  of  ho- 
nesty and  virtue,  appeared  in  some  way  to  justify  these 
reports.  But ,  at  times ,  flashes  of  sudden  and  brilliant  mag- 


CALDEROIt.  207 

iianimity  broke  forth  to  bewilder  the  curious ,  to  puzzle  the 

examiners  of  human  character,  and  to  contrast  the  general 
tenor  of  his  ambitious  and  remorseless  ascent  to  power. 
His  genius  was  confessed  by  all ,  but  it  was  a  genius  that  in 
no  way  prom.oted  the  interests  of  his  country.  It  served 
only  to  prop  ,  defend,  and  advance  himself —  to  baffle  dif- 
ficulties —  to  defeat  foes  —  to  convert  every  accident,  every 
chance  ,  into  new  stepping-stones  in  his  course,  ^^'hatever 
his  birth .  it  was  evident  that  he  had  received  every  advan- 
tage of  education ;  and  scholars  extolled  his  learning  and 
boasted  of  his  patronage.  While ,  more  recently,  if  the  dar- 
ing and  wild  excesses  of  the  protligate  prince  were ,  on  the 
one  hand ,  popularly  imputed  to  the  guidance  of  Calderon , 
and  increased  the  hatred  generally  conceived  against  him  : 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  his  influence  over  the  future  mon- 
arch seemed  to  promise  a  new  lease  to  his  authority,  and 
struck  fear  into  the  councils  of  his  foes.  In  fact ,  the  power 
of  the  upstart  marquis  appeared  so  firmly  rooted,  the  career 
before  him  so  splendid ,  that  there  w^re  not  wanted  whis- 
perers, who,  in  addition  to  his  other  crimes,  ascribed  to 
Roderigo  Calderon  the  assistance  of  the  black  art.  But  the 
black  art  in  which  that  subtle  courtier  was  a  proficient ,  is 
one  that  dispenses  with  necromancy.  It  was  the  art  of  de- 
voting the  highest  intellect  to  the  most  selfish  purposes  — 
an  art  that  thrives  tolerably  well ,  for  a  time  ,  in  the  great 
world  I 

He  had  been  for  several  weeks  absent  from  Madrid  on  a 
secret  mission-,  and  to  this,  his  first  public  levee,  on  his 
return  ,  thronged  all  the  rank  and  chivalry  of  Spain. 

The  crowd  gave  way,  as ,  with  haughty  air,  in  the  ma- 
turity of  manhood ,  the  Marquis  de  Siete  Iglesias  moved 
along.  He  disdained  all  accessories  of  dress ,  to  enhance 
the  effect  of  his  singularly  striking  exterior.  His  mantle  and 
vest  of  black  cloth ,  made  in  the  simplest  fashion ,  were 
unadorned  with  the  jewels  that  then  constituted  the  ordi- 
nary insignia  of  rank.    His  hair,  bright  and  glossy  as  the 


208  •  CALDERON. 

raven's  plume  ,  curled  back  from  the  lofty  and  commanding 
brow,  which  ,  save  by  one  deep  wrinkle  between  the  eyes , 
was  not  only  as  white,  but  as  smooth ,  as  marble.  His  fea- 
tures were  aquiline  and  regular  ;  and  the  deep  olive  of  his 
complexion  seemed  pale  and  clear,  when  contrasted  by  the 
rich  jet  of  the  moustache  and  pointed  beard.  The  lightness 
of  his  tall  and  slender,  but  muscular  form ,  made  him  appear 
younger  than  he  was  ^  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  super- 
cilious and  scornful  arrogance  of  air  which  so  seldom  cha- 
racterises gentle  birth ,  Calderon  might  have  mingled  with 
the  loftiest  magnates  of  Europe ,  and  seemed  to  the  observer 
the  stateliest  of  the  group.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  forms 
that  are  made  to  command  the  one  sex  and  fascinate  the 
other.  But ,  on  a  deeper  scrutiny,  the  restlessness  of  the 
brilliant  eye  —  the  quiver  of  the  upper  lip  —  a  certain  abrupt- 
ness of  manner  and  speech  ,  might  have  shewn  that  great- 
ness had  brought  suspicion  as  well  as  pride.  The  specta- 
tors beheld  the  huntsman  on  the  height^  —  the  huntsman 
saw  the  abyss  below,  and  respired  with  difficulty  the  air 
above. 

The  courtiers  one  by  one  approached  the  marquis ,  who 
received  them  with  very  unequal  courtesy.  To  the  common 
herd  he  was  sharp ,  dry,  and  bitter  ^  to  the  great  he  was 
obsequious ,  yet  with  a  certain  grace  and  manliness  of  bear- 
ing that  elevated  even  the  character  of  servility  •,  and  all  the 
while ,  as  he  bowed  low  to  a  Medina,  or  a  Guzman  ,  there 
was  a  half  imperceptible  mockery  lurking  in  the  corners  of 
his  mouth ,  which  seemed  to  imply  that ,  while  his  policy 
cringed ,  his  heart  despised.  To  two  or  three ,  whom  he 
either  personally  liked,  or  honestly  esteemed,  he  was 
familiar,  but  brief,  in  his  address;  to  those  whom  he  had 
cause  to  detest  or  to  dread  —  his  foes ,  his  underminers  — 
he  assumed  a  yet  greater  frankness  ,  mingled  with  the  most 
caressing  insinuation  of  voice  and  manner. 

Apart  from  the  herd ,  with  folded  arms ,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  countenance  in  which  much  admiration  was  blent 


c:\Li)EKO\.  209 

with  some  curiosity  and  a  little  contempt ,  Don  Martin  Fon- 
seca  gazed  upon  the  favourite. 

"  I  have  done  this  man  a  favour,"  thought  he  :  "  I  have 
contributed  towards  his  first  rise  —  I  am  now  his  suppliant. 
Taith  I  I ,  who  have  never  found  sincerity  or  gratitude  in 
the  camp ,  come  to  seek  those  hidden  treasures  at  a  court! 
Well ,  we  are  strange  puppets ,  we  mortals  I " 

Don  Diego  Sarmiento  de  Mendoza  had  just  received  the 
smiling  salutation  of  Calderon,  when  the  eye  of  the  latter 
fell  upon  the  handsome  features  of  Fonseca.  The  blood 
mounted  to  his  brow  •,  he  hastily  promised  Don  Diego  all 
that  he  desired  ^  and  ,  hurrying  back  through  the  crowd , 
retired  to  his  private  cabinet.  The  levee  was  broken  up. 

As  Fonseca,  who  had  caught  the  glance  of  the  secretary, 
and  wlio  drew  no  favourable  omen  from  his  sudden  evanish- 
ment ,  slowly  turned  to  depart  with  the  rest,  a  young  man , 
plainly  dressed ,  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

''You  are  Senor  Don  Martin  Fonseca?" 

"The  same." 

"  Follow  me ,  if  it  please  you ,  senor,  to  my  master  Don 
Roderigo  Calderon." 

Fonseca's  face  brightened  ^  he  obeyed  the  summons  ; 
and  in  another  moment  he  was  in  the  cabinet  of  the 
Sejanus  of  Spain. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  LOVER  AND  THE  CONFIDANT. 

Calderon  received  the  young  soldier  at  the  door  of  his 
chamber  with  marked  and  almost  affectionate  respect. 

"  Don  Martin,"  said  he ,  and  there  seemed  a  touch  of 
true  feehng  in  the  tremor  of  his  rich  sweet  voice ,  "  I  owe 
you  the  greatest  debt  one  man  can  incur  to  another  —  it 
was  your  hand  that  set  before  my  feet  their  first  stepping- 

14 


210  CALDERON. 

stone  to  power.  I  date  my  fortunes  from  the  hour  in  which 
I  was  placed  in  your  father's  house  as  your  preceptor. 
When  the  cardinal  duke  invited  you  to  Madrid  ,  I  was 
your  companion  ;  and  when  ,  afterwards ,  you  joined  the 
army,  and  required  no  longer  the  services  of  the  peace- 
ful scholar,  you  demanded  of  your  illustrious  kinsman  the 
single  favour  —  to  provide  for  Calderon.  I  had  already  been 
fortunate  enough  to  win  the  countenance  of  the  duke, 
and  from  that  day  my  rise  was  rapid.  Since  then  we 
have  never  met.  Dare  I  hope  that  it  is  now  in  the  power 
of  Calderon  to  prove  himself  not  ungrateful?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fonseca,  eagerly,  "it  is  in  your  power 
to  save  me  from  the  most  absolute  wretchedness  that  cai^ 
befall  me.  It  is  in  your  power,  at  least  I  think  so,  to  render 
me  the  happiest  of  men !  " 

"Be  seated,  I  pray  you,  senor.  And  how?  I  am  your 
servant." 

"Thou  knowest ,"  said  Fonseca,  "that,  though  the 
kinsman ,  1  am  not  the  favourite ,  of  the  Duke  of 
Lerma." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  interrupted  Calderon,  softly,  and  with  a 
bland  smile,  "you  misunderstand  my  illustrious  patron  : 
he  loves  you  ,  but  not  your  indiscretions." 

"  Yes  honesty  is  very  indiscreet !  I  cannot  stoop  to  the 
life  of  the  antechamber^  I  cannot ,  like  the  Duke  of  Lerma, 
detest  my  nearest  relative ,  if  his  shadow  cross  the  line  of 
my  interests.  I  am  of  the  race  of  Pelayo  ,  not  Oppas  ^  and 
my  profession ,  rather  that  of  an  ancient  Persian  than  a 
modern  Spaniard ,  is  to  manage  the  steed ,  to  wield  the 
sword ,  and  to  speak  the  truth." 

There  was  an  earnestness  and  gallantry  in  the  young 
man's  aspect,  manner,  and  voice,  as  he  thus  spoke,  whicli 
afforded  the  strongest  contrast  to  the  inscrutable  brow  and 
artificial  softness  of  Calderon  ^  and  which  ,  indeed  ,  for  the 
moment ,  occasioned  that  crafty  and  profound  adventurer 
an  involuntary  feeling  of  self-humiliation. 


CALDEROIN.  211 

"But,"  continued  Fonseca,  "let  this  pass  :  I  come  to 
my  story  and  my  request.  Do  you,  or  do  you  not  know, 
that  I  have  been  for  some  time  attached  to  Beatriz 
Coello?" 

"Beatriz,"  repeated  Calderon  ,  abstractedly,  with  an 
altered  countenance,  "  it  is  a  sweet  name  —  It  was  my 
mother's  I " 

"Your  mother's  I  I  thought  to  have  heard  her  name 
was  Mary  Sandaien?" 

"True  —  Mary  Beatriz  Sandaien,"  replied  Calderon^ 
indifferently.  "But,  proceed.  I  heard,  after  your  last 
visit  to  Madrid,  when,  owing  to  my  own  absence  in  Por- 
tugal ,  I  was  not  fortunate  enough  to  see  you,  that  you  had 
offended  the  duke  by  desiring  an  alliance  unsuitable  to 
your  birth.  AVho  ,  then  ,  is  this  Beatriz  Coello?" 

"  An  orphan  of  humble  origin  and  calling.  In  infancy 
she  was  left  to  the  care  of  a  woman  who ,  I  believe,  had 
been  her  nurse  ^  they  were  settled  in  Seville ,  and  the  old 
gouvernante's  labours  in  embroidery  maintained  them  both 
till  Beatriz  was  fourteen.  At  that  time  the  poor  woman  was 
disabled,  by  a  stroke  of  palsy,  from  continuing  her  labours ; 
and  Beatriz ,  good  child ,  yearning  to  repay  the  obligations 
she  had  received,  in  her  turn  sought  to  maintain  her  pro- 
tectress. She  possessed  the  gift  of  a  voice  wonderful  lor  its 
sweetness.  This  gift  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  super- 
intendent of  the  theatre  at  Seville  :  he  made  her  the  most 
advantageous  proposals  to  enter  upon  the  stage.  Beatriz, 
innocent  child ,  was  unaware  of  the  perils  of  that  pro- 
fession :  she  accepted ,  eagerly,  the  means  that  would  give 
comfort  to  the  dechning  life  of  her  only  friend  —  she  became 
an  actress.  At  that  time  we  were  quartered  in  Seville,  to 
keep  guard  on  the  suspected  Moriscos." 

"  Ah,  the  hated  infidels  I"  muttered  Calderon,  fiercely, 
through  his  teeth. 

"1  saw  Beatriz,  and  loved  her  at  first  sight.  I  do  not' 
say,"  added  Fonseca  ,  with  a  blush.  "  that  my  suit,  at  the 


212  CALDERON. 

outset,  was  that  which  alone  was  worthy  of  her;  hut  her 
virtue  soon  won  my  esteem  ,  as  well  as  love.  I  left  Seville 
to  seek  my  father,  and  obtain  his  consent  to  a  marriage 
with  Beatriz.  You  know  a  hidalgo's  prejudices  —  they  are 
insuperable.  Meanwhile  the  fame  of  the  beauty  and  voice 
of  the  young  actress  reached  Madrid  ,  and  hither  she  was 
removed  from  Seville,  by  royal  command.  To  Madrid, 
then,  I  hastened,  on  the  pretence  of  demanding  pro- 
motion. You,  as  you  have  stated ,  were  absent  in  Portugal . 
on  some  state  mission.  I  sought  the  Duke  de  Lerma.  I 
implored  him  to  give  me  some  po.^t ,  anywhere  —  I  recked 
not  beneath  what  sky,  in  the  vast  empire  of  Spain  —  in 
which,  removed  from  the  prejudices  of  birth  and  of  class, 
and  provided  with  other  means,  less  precarious  than  those 
that  depend  on  the  sword,  I  might  make  Beatriz  my  wife. 
The  polished  duke  was  more  inexorable  than  the  stern 
hidalgo.  I  flew  to  Beatriz  ^  I  told  her  I  had  nothing  but 
my  heart  and  right  hand  to  offer.  She  wept ,  and  she 
refused  me." 

*'  Because  you  were  not  rich  ? " 

''  Shame  on  you ,  no  I  but  because  she  would  not  consent 
to  mar  my  fortunes  ,  and  banish  me  from  my  native  land. 
The  next  day  I  received  a  peremptory  order  to  rejoin  the 
army  and  with  that  order  came  a  brevet  of  promotion.  Lover 
though  1  be,  I  am  a  Spaniard  :  to  have  disobeyed  the  order 
would  have  been  dishonour.  Hope  dawned  upon  me  —  I 
might  rise,  I  might  become  rich.  We  exchanged  our  vows  of 
fidelity.  I  returned  to  the  camp.  We  corresponded.  At  last 
her  letters  alarmed  me.  Through  all  her  reserve ,  I  saw  that 
she  was  revolted  by  her  profession ,  and  terrified  at  the  per- 
secutions to  which  it  exposed  her  :  the  old  woman ,  her 
sole  guide  and  companion  ,  was  dying  :  she  was  dejected 
and  unhappy  :  she  despaired  of  our  union  •,  she  expressed 
a  desire  for  the  refuge  of  the  cloister.  At  last  came  this 
letter,  bidding  me  farewell  for  ever.  Her  relation  was  dead  ; 
and,  with  the  little  money  she  had  amassed,  she  had 


CALDEROiX.  213 

bought  her  entrance  iuto  the  convent  of  St.  IMary  of  the 
White  Sword.  Imagine  my  despair!  I  obtained  leave  of 
absence  ~  I  flew  to  Madrid.  Beatriz  is  already  immur- 
ed in  that  dreary  asylum  ^  she  has  entered  on  her  no- 
viciate." 

"Is  that  the  letter  you  refer  to?"  said  Calderon,  ex- 
tending his  hand. 
Fonseca  gave  him  the  letter. 

Hard  and  cold  as  Calderon's  character  had  grown,  there 
was  something  in  the  tone  of  this  letter  — its  pure  and 
noble  sentiments,  its  innocence,  its  afTection— that  touched 
some  mystic  chord  in  his  heart.  He  sighed  as  he  laid  it 
down. 

"  You  are ,  like  all  of  us ,  Don  Martin  ,"  said  he ,  with  a 
bitter  smile,  "  the  dupe  of  a  woman's  faith.  But  you  must 
purchase  experience  for  yourself:  and  if,  indeed,  you  ask 
my  services  to  procure  you  present  bliss  and  future  disap- 
pointment, those  services  are  yours.    It  will  not,  1  think, 
be  difticult  to  interest  tlie  queen  in  your  favour  :  leave  me 
this  letter,  it  is  one  to  touch  the  heart  of  a  woman.   If  we 
succeed  with  the  queen ,  who  is  the  patroness  of  the  con- 
vent ,  we  may  be  sure  to  obtain  an  order  from  court  for  the 
liberation  of  the  novice  :  the  next  step  is  one  more  arduous. 
It  is  not  enough  to  restore  Beatriz  to  freedom  — we  must 
reconcile  your  family  to  the  marriage.  This  cannot  be  done 
while  she  is  not  noble:  but  letters  patent  (here  Calderon 
smiled)  could  ennoble  a  mushroom  itself— your  humble 
servant  is  an  example.  Such  letters  may  be  bought  or  begged, 
I  will  undertake  to  procure  them..  Your  father,  too,  may  find 
a  dowry  accompanying  the  title ,  in  the  shape  of  a  high  and 
honourable  post  for  yourself.  You  deserve  much  ^  you  are 
beloved  in  the  army  ^  you  have  won  a  high  name  in  the 
world.    I  take  shame  on  myself  that  your  fortunes  have 
been  overlooked.    '  Out  of  sight  out  of  mind  ^'  alas  I  it  is  a 
true  proverb.  I  confess  that,  when  I  beheld  you  in  tlie  ante- 
room ,  I  blushed  for  my  past  forgetfulncss.  No  matter  — I 


214  CALDEKOA. 

will  repair  my  fault.  Men  say  that  my  patronage  is  mis- 
applied —  I  will  prove  the  contrary  by  your  promotion." 

*' Generous  Calderon!"  said  Fonseca ,  falteringly,  "I 
ever  hated  the  judgments  of  the  vulgar.  They  calumniate 
you^  it  is  from  envy."* 

"  No  ,"  said  Calderon ,  coldly,  "  I  am  bad  enough ,  but  I 
am  still  human.  Besides ,  gratitude  is  my  policy ;  I  have 
always  found  that  it  is  a  good  way  to  get  on  in  the  world , 
to  serve  those  who  serve  us." 

"But  the  duke?" 

"  Fear  not^  I  have  an  oil  that  will  smooth  all  the  billows 
on  that  surface.  As  for  the  letter,  I  say,  leave  It  with 
me  ^  I  will  shew  it  to  the  queen.  Let  me  see  you  again  to- 
morrow." 


CHAPTER  III. 


Calderon's  eyes  were  flxed  musingly  on  the  door 
which  closed  on  Fonseca's  martial  and  noble  form. 

"  Great  contrasts  among  men  I "  said  he,  half  aloud.  "  All 
the  classes  into  which  naturalists  ever  divided  the  animal 
world  contain  not  the  variety  that  exists  between  man  and 
man.  And ,  yet ,  we  all  agree  in  one  object  of  our  being  — 
all  prey  on  each  other  I  Glory,  which  is  but  the  thirst  of 
blood,  makes  yon  soldier  the  tiger  of  his  kind ;  other  pas- 
sions have  made  me  the  serpent  :  both  fierce,  relentless, 
unscrupulous  —  both !  hero  and  courtier,  valour  and  craft! 
Hem !  I  will  serve  this  young  man  —  he  has  served  me. 
When  all  other  affection  was  torn  from  me ,  he ,  then  a  boy, 
smiled  on  me  ,  and  bade  me  love  him.  Why  has  he  been 
so  long  forgotten?  He  is  not  of  the  race  that  I  abhor;  no 


Moorish  blood  flows  in  his  veins;  neither  is  he  of  the  great 
and  powerful ,  whom  I  dread :  nor  of  the  crouching  and  the 
servile ,  whom  I  despise  :  he  is  one  whom  I  can  aid  without 
ablush." 

While  Calderon  thus  soliloquised ,  the  arras  was  lifted 
aside  ,  and  a  cavalier,  on  whose  cheek  was  the  first  down 
of  manhood  ,  entered  the  apartment. 

"  So ,  Roderigo ,  alone !  welcome  back  to  Madrid,  ^'ay, 
seat  thyself ,  man  —  seat  thyself." 

Calderon  bowed  with  the  deepest  reverence  ;  and  ,  pla- 
cing a  large  fauteuil  before  the  stranger,  seated  himself  on 
a  stool  at  a  little  distance. 

The  new-c^mer  was  of  dark  and  saturnine  complexion  i 
but  his  features ,  on  the  whole  ,  were  comely,  and  his  gor- 
geous dress  sparkled  with  prodigal  jewels.  Boy  as  he  was , 
there  was  yet  a  careless  loftiness ,  a  haughty  ease ,  in  the 
gesture  —  the  bend  of  the  neck ,  the  wave  of  the  hand , 
which,  coupled  with  the  almost  servile  homage  of  the 
arrogant  favourite ,  would  have  convinced  the  most  super- 
ficial observer  that  he  w^as  born  of  the  highest  rank.  A 
second  glance  would  have  betrayed  ,  in  the  full  Austrian  lip 
—  the  high ,  but  narrow  forehead  ~  the  dark ,  voluptuous  , 
but  crafty  and  sinister  eye ,  the  features  of  the  descendant 
of  Charles  V.  It  was  the  Infant  of  Spain  that  stood  in  the 
chamber  of  his  ambitious  minion. 

"-  This  is  convenient,  this  private  entrance  into  thy  pene- 
tralia, Roderigo.  It  shelters  me  from  the  prying  eyes  of 
Uzeda ,  who  ever  seeks  to  cozen  the  sire  by  spying  on  the 
son.  AVe  will  pay  him  off  one  of  these  days.  He  loves  you 
less  than  he  does  his  prince." 

"  I  bear  no  malice  to  him  for  that ,  your  highness.  He 
covets  the  smiles  of  the  rising  sun  ,  and  rails  at  the  humble 
object  which,  he  thinks,  obstructs  the  beam." 

"  He  might  be  easy  on  that  score  :  I  hate  the  man  ,  and 
his  cold  formalities.  He  is  ever  fancying  that  we  princes 
are  intent  on  the  affairs  of  state,  an'd  forgets  that  we  are 


216  CALDERON. 

mortal ,  and  that  youth  is  the  age  for  the  bower,  not  the 
council.  My  precious  Calderon,  life  would  be  dull  without 
thee  :  how  I  rejoice  at  thy  return ,  thou  best  inventor  of 
pleasure  that  satiety  ever  prayed  for  I  Nay,  blush  not  : 
some  men  despise  thee  for  thy  talents^  I  do  thee  homage. 
By  my  great  grand-sire's  beard ,  it  will  be  a  merry  time  at 
court  when  I  am  monarch :  and  thou  minister !  " 

Calderon  looked  earnestly  at  the  prince,  but  his  scrutiny 
did  not  serve  to  dispel  a  certain  suspicion  of  the  royal  sin- 
cerity that  ever  and  anon  came  across  the  favourite's  most 
sanguine  dreams.  With  all  Philip's  gaiety,  there  was  some- 
thing restrained  and  latent  in  his  ambiguous  smile ,  and 
his  calm  ,  deep ,  brilliant  eye.  Calderon ,  immeasurably 
above  his  lord  in  genius ,  was  scarcely,  perhaps ,  the  equal 
of  that  beardless  boy  in  hypocrisy  and  craft,  in  selfish 
coldness ,  in  matured  depravity. 

"  Weil,"  resumed  the  prince,  "I  pay  you  not  these 
compliments  without  an  object.  I  have  need  of  you  — 
great  need  ;  never  did  I  so  require  your  services  as  at  this 
moment-,  never  was  there  so  great  demand  on  your  inven- 
tion, your  courage,  your  skill.    Know  ,  Calderon  ,  I  love  I " 

"  My  prince , "  said  the  marquis,  smiling,  "it  is  cer- 
tainly not  first  love.    How  often  has  your  highness " 

"  No ,"  interrupted  the  prince ,  hastily  —  "  no ,  I  never 
loved  till  now.  We  never  can  love  what  we  can  easily  win  ^ 
but  this ,  Calderon ,  this  heart  would  be  a  conquest.  Lis- 
ten. I  was  at  the  convent  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  White 
Sword  yesterday  with  the  queen.  Thou  knowest  that  the 
abbess  once  was  a  lady  of  the  chamber,  and  the  queen 
loves  her.  Both  of  us  were  moved  arid  astonished  by  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  choir  —it  was  that  of  a  novice.  After 
the  ceremony,  the  queen  made  inquiries  touching  this  new 
Santa  Cecilia  •,  and  who  dost  thou  think  she  is?  No  ;  thou 
wilt  never  guess !  —  the  once  celebrated  singer  —  the  beau- 
tiful,  the  inimitable  Beatriz  Coellol  Ah!  you  may  well 
look  surprised^  when  actresses  turn  nuns,  it  is  well  nigh 


C ALDER  ox.  217 

time  for  Calderon  and  Philip  to  turn  monks.    Now ,  you 
must  know ,  Roderigo ,  that  I ,  unworthy  though  I  be ,  am 
the  cause  of  this  conversion.   There  is  a  certain  Martin 
Fonseca ,  a  kinsman  of  Lerma's—  thou  knowest  him  well. 
I  learned,  some  time  since,  from  the  duke ,  that  this  young 
Orlando  was  most  madly  enamoured  of  a  low-born  girl  — 
nay,  desired  to  wed  her.    The  duke's  story  moved  my  cu- 
riosity.   I  found  that  it  was  the  young  Beatriz  Coello , 
whom  I  had  already  admired  on  the  stage.    Ah ,  Calderon, 
she  blazed  and  set  during  thy  dull  mission  to  Lisbon !    I 
souglit  an  opportunily  to  visit  her.    I  was  astonished  at 
her  beauty,  that  seemed  more  dazzling  in  the  chamber  than 
on  the  stage.    I  pressed   my  suit  —  in  vain.    Calderon , 
hear  you  that?  -  in  vain  I    AVhy  wert  thou  not  by?   Thy 
arts  never  fail,  my  friend  I    She  was  living  with  an  old 
relation,  or  gouvernante.    The  old  relation  died  suddenly 
—  I  took  advantage  of  her  lonehness  —  I  entered  her  house 
at  night.    By  St.  Jago  ,  her  virtue  baffled  and  defeated  me. 
The  next  morning  she  was  gone  ;  nor  could  my  researches 
discover  her,  until  at  the  convent  of  St  :Mary  I  recognised 
the  lost  actress  in  the  young  novice.   She  has  fled  to  the 
convent  to  be  true  to  Fonseca  ^  she  must  fly  from  the  con- 
vent to  bless  the  prince  I    This  is  my  tale  :  1  want  thy  aid." 
"  Prince,"  said  Calderon  ,  gravely,  "  thou  knowest  the 
laws  of  Spain—  the  rigour  of  the  church.    I  dare  not  "— 

"  Pshaw  I  >"o  scruples  —  my  rank  will  bear  thee  harm- 
less, yay,  look  not  so  demure:  why,  even  thou  ,  I  see , 
hast  thy  Armida.  This  billet  in  a  female  hand  —  Heaven 
and  earth  I  Calderon  I  What  name  is  this?  Beatriz  Coello ! 
Darest  thou  have  crossed  my  path  ?  Speak ,  sir  I  —  speak  I " 
"  Your  highness ,'"  said  Calderon ,  with  a  mixture  of  re- 
spect and  dignity  in  his  manner,  —"  your  highness ,  hear 
me.  My  first  benefactor,  my  beloved  pupil,  my  earliest  pa- 
tron ,  was  the  same  Don  Martin  Fonseca  who  seeks  this 
girl  with  an  honest  love.  This  morning  he  has  visited  me, 
to  implore  my  intercession   on  his  behalf.    Oh  ,  prince ! 


218  CALDERO.\. 

turn  not  away  :  thou  knowest  not  half  his  merit.  Thou 
knowest  not  the  value  of  such  siihjects  —  men  of  the  old 
iron  race  of  Spain.  Thou  hast  a  noble  and  royal  heart; 
be  not  the  rival  to  the  defender  of  thy  cro^vn.  Bless  this 
brave  soldier  —  spare  this  poor  orphan  —  and  one  gene- 
rous act  of  self-denial  shall  give  thee  absolution  for  a  thou- 
sand pleasures." 

"This  from  Roderigo  Calderon  I"  said  the  prince  with  a 
bitter  sneer.  "  Man ,  know  thy  station,  and  thy  profession. 
When  I  want  homilies  ,  I  seek  my  confessor  •,  when  I  have 
resolved  on  a  vice  ,  I  come  to  thee.  A  truce  with  this  bom- 
bast. For  Fonseca ,  he  shall  be  consoled  ;  and  when  he 
shall  learn  who  is  his  rival ,  he  is  a  traitor  if  he  remain  dis- 
contented with  his  lot.    Thou  shalt  aid  me  ,  Calderon  I '' 

"  Your  highness  will  pardon  me  —  no  I " 

"  Do  I  hear  right?  No  I  —  Art  thou  not  my  minion  — 
my  instrument?  Can  I  not  destroy  as  I  have  helped  to 
raise  thee  ?  Thy  fortunes  have  turned  thy  brain .  The  king 
already  suspects  and  dislikes  thee  :  thy  foe ,  Uzeda  ,  has  his 
ear.  The  people  execrate  thee.  If  I  abandon  thee,  thou  art 
lost.    Look  to  it  I  " 

Calderon  remained  mute  and  erect ,  with  his  arms  folded 
on  his  breast,  and  his  cheek  flushed  with  suppressed  pas- 
sions. Philip  gazed  at  him  earnestly,  and  then,  muttering 
to  himself,  approached  the  favourite  with  an  altered  air. 

"  Come ,  Calderon  —  I  have  been  hasty  —  you  madden- 
ed me ;  I  meant  not  to  wound  you.  Thou  art  honest ,  and 
1  think  thou  lovest  me  ^  and  I  will  own  ,  that  in  ordinary 
circumstances  thy  advice  would  be  good ,  and  thy  scru- 
ples laudable.  But  I  tell  thee ,  that  I  adore  this  girl :  that 
I  have  set  all  my  hopes  upon  her:  that  at  whatever  cost , 
whatever  risk,  she  must  be  mine.  Wilt  thou  desert  me? 
W  ilt  thou ,  on  whose  faith  1  have  ever  leaned  so  trustingly, 
forsake  thy  friend  and  thy  prince  for  this  brawling  soldier? 
\o^  I  WTong  thee." 
"  Oh  I"  said  Calderon,  with  much  semblance  of  emo- 


■c\[.DKKO>.  219 

tion  ,  —  ''I  would  lay  down  my  life  in  your  service  ,  and  I 
have  often  surrendered  my  conscience  to  your  lightest 
will.  But  this  would  be  so  base  a  perfidy  in  me  I  He  has 
confided  his  life  of  life  to  my  hands.  How  canst  even  thou 
count  on  my  faith  ,  if  thou  knowest  me  false  to  another?" 

"  False  I  art  thou  not  false  to  me?  Have  I  not  confided 
to  thee  ,  and  dost  thou  not  desert  me  —  nay  perhaps  ,  be- 
tray? How  wouldst  thou  serve  this  Fonseca?  How  libe- 
rate the  novice?" 

"  By  an  order  of  the  court.    Your  royal  mother " 

"  Enough  I  "  said  the  prince  ,  fiercely  ;  "do  so.  Thou 
shalt  have  leisure  foj  repentance." 

As  he  spoke ,  Philip  strode  to  the  door.  Calderon ,  alarm- 
ed and  anxious,  sought  to  detain  him ;  but  the  prince  broke 
disdainfully  away,  and  Calderon  was  again  alone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CIVIL    AMBITIO-N  ,    AND    ECCLESIASTICAL. 

Scarcely  had  the  prince  vanished,  before  the  door 
that  led  from,  the  anteroom  was  opened ,  and  an  old 
man  ,  in  the  ecclesiastical  garb ,  entered  the  secretary's 
cabinet. 

"  Do  I  intrude,  my  son?  "  said  the  churchman. 

"  No,  father,  no^  1  never  more  desired  your  presence 
—  your  counsel.  It  is  not  often  that  I  stand  halting  and 
irresolute  between  the  twin  magnets  of  interest  and  con- 
science :  this  is  one  of  those  rare  dilemmas.'" 

Here  Calderon  rapidly  narrated  the  substance  of  his  con- 
versation with  Fonseca,  and  of  the  subsequent  communi- 
cation with  the  prince.  *   *  • 

"  You  see ,"  he  said  ,  in  conclusion ,  "  how  critical  is  my 
position.    On  one  side ,  my  obligations  to  Fonseca  ,  my 


220  CALDKRON. 

promise  to  a  benefactor ,  a  friend ,  to  the  boy  I  assisted  to 
rear  :  nor  is  that  all  •,  the  prince  asks  me  to  connive  at  the 
abstraction  of  a  novice  from  a  consecrated  house.  What 
peril  —  what  hazard !  On  the  other  side ,  if  I  refuse  ,  the 
displeasure ,  the  vengeance  of  the  prince ,  for  whose  favour . 
I  have  already  half  forfeited  that  of  the  king ,  and  who , 
were  he  once  to  frown  upon  me ,  would  encourage  all  my 
enemies  —  in  other  phrase ,  the  whole  court  —  in  one 
united  attempt  at  my  ruin." 

"  It  is  a  stern  trial ,"  said  the  monk ,  gravely  ^  ''  and  one 
that  may  well  excite  your  fear." 

"  Fear ,  Aliaga !  —  ha  I  ha !  —  feai: !  "  said  Calderon  , 
laughing  scornfully.  "  Did  true  ambition  ever  know  fear? 
Have  we  not  the  old  Castilian  proverb,  that  tells  us ,  '  He 
who  has  climbed  the  lirst  step  to  power ,  has  left  terror  a 
thousand  leagues  behind?'  INo ,  it  is  not  fear  that  renders 
me  irresolute  ^  it  is  wisdom  ,  and  some  touch ,  some  rem- 
nant, of  human  nature  —  philosophers  would  call  it  virtue^ 
you  priests,  religion." 

^'  Son  ,"  said  the  priest,  "  when  ,  as  one  of  that  sublime 
calling,  which  enables  us  to  place  our  unshodden  feet  upon 
the  necks  of  kings  ,  I  felt  that  I  had  the  power  to  serve  and 
to  exalt  you;  when,  as  confessor  to  Philip,  I  backed  the 
patronage  of  Lerma ,  recommended  you  to  the  royal  notice, 
and  brought  you  into  the  sunshine  of  the  royal  favour  — 
it  v;as  because  I  had  read  in  your  heart  and  brain  those 
qualities  of  which  the  spiritual  masters  of  the  world  ever 
seek  to  avail  their  cause.  I  knew  thee,  brave,  crafty,  as- 
piring, unscrupulous.  I  knew  that  thou  wouldest  not 
shrink  at  the  means  that  could  secure  to  thee  a  noble  end. 
Yea ,  when  ,  years  ago  ,  in  the  valley  of  the  Xenil ,  I  saw 
thee  bathe  thy  hands  in  the  blood  of  thy  foe ,  and  heard  thy 
laugh  of  exulting  scorn  ^  —  when  I ,  alone  master  of  thy 
secret,  behel'd  thee  afterwards  flymg  from  thy  home, 
stained  with  a  second  murder,  but  still  calm,  stern,  and 
iord  of  thine  own  reason,  my  knowledge  of  mankind  told 


CALDEnON.  221 

nie ,  '  Of  sucli  n>|?n  are  high  converts  and  miglity  instru- 
ments made ! " 

The  priest  paused  •,  for  Calderon  heard  him  not.  His 
cheek  was  livid,  his  eyes  closed,  his  chest  heaved  wildly. 

"  Horrihle  remembrance!  "  he  muttered  ^  "  fatal  love- 
dread  revenge  I  Inez  —  Inez,  what  hast  thou  to  answer 
for?" 

"  Be  soothed ,  my  son  •,  1  meant  not  to  tear  the  bandage 
from  thy  wounds." 

'•  \Yho  speaks?  "  cried  Calderon,  starting.  "  Ha, 
priest  I  priest  I  I  thought  I  heard  the  Dead.  Talk  on  , 
talk  on  :  talk  of  the  world  —  the  inquisition —  thy  plots  — 
the  torture  —  the  rack  I  Talk  of  aught  that  will  lead  me 
back  from  the  past." 

"  jVo;  let  me  for  a  moment  lead  thee  thither,  in  order 
to  portray  the  future  that  awaits  thee.  When  ,  at  night ,  I 
found  thee — the  blood-stained  fugitive — cowering  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  forest ,  dost  thou  remember  that  I  laid 
my  hand  upon  thine  arm,  and  said  to  thee,  '  Thy  life  is  in 
my  power  ? '  From  that  hour ,  thy  disdain  of  my  threats , 
of  myself,  of  thine  own  life  —  all  made  me  view  thee  as 
one  borne  to  advance  our  immortal  cause.  I  led  thee  to 
safety  far  away  ^  I  won  thy  friendship  and  thy  confidence. 
Thou  becamest  one  of  us  —  one  of  the  great  Order  of  Je- 
sus. Subsequently  I  placed  thee  as  the  tutor  to  young 
Fonseca ,  then  heir  to  great  fortunes.  The  second  marriage 
of  his  uncle ,  and  the  heir  that  by  that  marriage  interposed 
between  him  and  the  honour  of  his  house ,  rendered  the 
probable  alliance  of  the  youth  profitless  to  us.  But  thou 
hadst  procured  his  friendship.  He  presented  thee  to  the 
Duke  of  Lerma.  I  was  just  then  appointed  confessor  to 
the  king  •,  I  found  that  years  had  ripened  thy  genius ,  and 
memory  had  blunted  in  thee  all  the  afTections  of  the  flesh. 
Above  all,  hating,  as  thou  didst,  the  very  name  of  the 
Moor ,  thou  wert  the  man  of  men  to  aid  in  our  great  design 
of  expelling  the  accursed  race  from  the  land  of  Spain. 


222  CALDERON. 

Enough  —  I  served  thee  ,  and  thou  didst  repay  us.  Thou 
hast  washed  out  thy  crime  in  the  hlood  of  the  infidel  — 
thou  art  safe  from  detection.  In  Roderigo.  Calderon ,  Mar- 
quis de  Siete  Iglesias ,  who  will  suspect  the  Roderigo  Nunez 

—  the  murderous  student  of  Salamanca?  Our  device  of 
the  false  father  stifled  even  curiosity.  Thou  mayest  wake 
to  the  future ,  nor  tremble  at  one  shadow  in  the  past.  The 
brightest  hopes  are  before  us  both  ;  but ,  to  realise  them  , 
we  must  continue  the  same  path.  We  must  never  halt  at 
an  obstacle  in  our  way.  We  must  hold  that  to  be  no  crime 
which  advances  our  common  objects.  Mesh  upon  mesh  we 
must  entangle  the  future  monarch  in  our  web  :  thou,  by 
the  nets  of  pleasure ;  1 ,  by  those  of  superstition.  The  day 
that  sees  Philip  the  Fourth  upon  the  throne ,  must  be  a 
day  of  jubilee  for  the  Brotherhood  and  the  Inquisition. 
When  thou  art  prime  minister,  and  I  the  grand  inquisitor 

—  that  time  must  come—  we  shall  have  the  power  to  ex- 
tend the  sway  of  the  sect  of  Loyola  to  the  ends  of  the  Christ- 
ian world.  The  inquisition  itself  our  tool!  Posterity  shall 
regard  us  as  the  apostles  of  intellectual  faith.  And  thinkest 
thou  that ,  for  the  attainment  of  these  great  ends ,  we  can 
have  the  tender  scruples  of  common  men  ?  Perish  a  thou- 
sand Fonsecas  —  ten  thousand  novices  ,  ere  thou  lose,  by 
the  strength  of  a  hair,  thy  hold  over  the  senses  and  soul  of 
the  licentious  Philip !  At  whatever  hazard,  save  thy  power ; 
for  with  it  are  bound,  as  mariners  to  a  plank ,  the  hopes  of 
those  who  make  the  mind  a  sceptre." 

"Thy  enthusiasm  blinds  and  misleads  thee,  Aliaga," 
said  Calderon,  coldly.  "  For  me,  I  tell  thee  now,  as  I 
have  told  thee  before ,  that  I  care  not  a  rush  for  thy  grand 
objects.  Let  mankind  serve  itself ,— I  look  to  myself  alone. 
But  fear  not  my  faith  i  my  interests  and  my  very  life  are 
identified  with  thee  and  thy  fellow  fanatics.  If  I  desert 
thee,  thou  art  too  deep  in  my  secrets  not  to  undo  me ;  and 
were  I  to  slay  thee ,  in  order  to  silence  thy  testimony ,  I 
know  enough    of  thy  fraternitv   to  know  that  I  should 


CALDERON.  22,1 

but  raise  up  a  multitude  of  avengers.  As  for  this  matter, 
you  give  me  wise,  if  not  pious,  counsel.  I  will  consider 
well  of  it.  Adieu !  The  hour  summons  mo  to  attend  the 
king." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   TRUE   FATA    MORGANA. 

In  the  royal  chamber,  before  a  table  covered  with  papers, 
sate  the  king  and  his  secretary.  Grave,  sullen,  and  taci- 
turn, there  was  little  in  the  habitual  manner  of  Philip  the 
Third  that  could  betray  to  the  most  experienced  courtier 
the  outward  symptoms  of  favour  or  caprice.  Education  had 
fitted  him  for  the  cloister,  but  the  necessities  of  despotism 
had  added  acute  cunning  to  slavish  superstition.  The 
business  for  which  Calderon  had  been  summoned  was  de- 
spatched, with  a  silence  broken  but  by  monosyllables  from 
the  king ,  and  brief  explanations  from  the  secretary  ^  and 
Philip,  rising,  gave  the  signal  for  Calderon  to  retire.  It  was 
then  that  the  king,  turning  a  dull,  but  steadfast  eye,  upon 
the  marquis,  said,  with  a  kind  of  effort ,  as  if  speech  were 
painful  to  him, — 

"  The  prince  left  me  but  a  minute  before  your  entrance 
— have  you  seen  him  since  your  return  ? " 

"Your  majesty,  yes.  He  honoured  me  this  morning 
with  his  presence." 

"On  state  affairs?" 

"  Your  majesty  knows ,  I  trust ,  that  your  servant  treats 
of  state  affairs  only  with  your  august  self ,  or  your  appoint- 
ed ministers." 

"  The  prince  has  favoured  you ,  Don  Roderigo." 

"  Your  majesty  commanded  me  to  seek  that  favour." 

'*  It  is  true.  Happy  the  monarch  whose  faithful  servant 
is  the  confidant  of  the  heir  to  his  crown  ! " 


224  CA.LDERON. 

"  Could  the  prince  harbour  one  thought  displeasing  to 
your  majesty,  I  think  I  could  detect,  and  quell  it  at  its 
birth.   But  your  majesty  is  blessed  in  a  grateful  son." 

*'  I  believe  it.  His  love  of  pleasure  decoys  him  from  am- 
bition—so it  should  be.  I  am  not  an  austere  parent.  Keep 
his  favour,  Don  Roderigo^  it  pleases  me.  Hast  thou 
offended  him  in  aught?" 

"  I  trust  I  have  not  incurred  so  great  a  misfortune." 

"  He  spoke  not  of  thee  \Yith  his  usual  praises  —  I  no- 
ticed it.  I  tell  thee  this ,  that  thou  mayest  rectify  what  is 
wrong.  Thou  canst  not  serve  me  more  than  by  guarding 
him  from  all  friendships  save  with  those  whose  affection  to 
myself  I  can  trust.    I  have  said  enough." 

"  Such  has  ever  been  my  object.  But  1  have  not  the 
youth  of  the  prince,  and  men  speak  ill  of  me,  that,  in  order 
to  gain  his  confidence ,  I  share  in  his  pursuits." 

*'  It  matters  not  what  they  say  of  thee.  Faithful  mi- 
nisters are  rarely  eulogised  by  the  populace  or  the  court. 
Thou  knowest  my  mind  :  I  repeat,  lose  not  the  prince's 
favour." 

Calderon  bowed  low ,  and  withdrew.  As  he  passed 
through  the  apartments  of  the  palace,  he  crossed  a  gallery, 
in  which  he  perceived ,  stationed  by  a  window ,  the  young 
prince  and  his  own  arch  foe,  the  Duke  d'Uzeda.  At  the 
same  instant ,  from  an  opposite  door ,  entered  the  Cardinal 
Duke  de  Lerma  •,  and  the  same  unwelcome  conjunction  of 
hostile  planets  smote  the  eyes  of  that  intriguing  minister. 
Precisely  because  Uzeda  was  the  duke's  son ,  w^as  he  the 
man  in  the  world  whom  the  duke  most  dreaded  and  sus- 
pected. 

Whoever  is  acquainted  with  the  Spanish  comedy  will 
not  fail  to  have  remarked  the  prodigahty  of  intrigue,  and 
counter-intrigue ,  upon  which  its  interest  is  made  to  de- 
pend. In  this,  the  Spanish  comedy  was  the  faithful  mirror 
of  the  Spanish  life,  especially  in  the  circles  of  a  court.  Men 
lived  in  a  perfect  labyrinth  of  plot  and  counter-plot.    The 


CALDERO.\.  225 

spirit  of  finesse ,  manoeuvre ,  subtlety,  and  double-dealing  , 
pervaded  every  family.  Kot  a  house  that  was  not  divided 
against  itself : 

As  Lerma  turned  his  eyes  from  the  unv/elcome  spectacle 
of  such  sudden  familiarity  between  Uzeda  and  the  heir  ap- 
parent —  a  familiarity  which  it  had  been  his  chief  care  to 
gua  d  against —  his  glance  fell  on  Calderon.  He  beckoned 
to  him  in  silence,  and  retired,  unobserved  by  the  two 
confabulators ,  through  the  same  door  by  which  he 
had  entered.  Calderon  took  the  hint,  and  followed  him. 
The  duke  entered  a  small  room ,  and  carefully  closed  the 
door. 

"How  is  this,  Calderon?"  he  asked :  but  in  a  timid 
tone,  for  the  weak  old  man  stood  in  awe  of  his  favourite. 
"  Whence  this  new  and  most  ill-boding  league?" 

"  I  know  not,  your  eminence ^,  remember  that  I  am  but 
just  returned  to  Madrid  :  it  amazes  me,  no  less  than  it  does 
your  excellency." 

"  Learn  the  cause  of  it,  my  good  Calderon  :  the  prince 
ever  professed  to  hate  Uzeda.  Restore  him  to  those  feel- 
ings :  thou  art  all  in  all  with  his  highness  I  If  Uzeda  once 
gain  his  ear ,  thou  art  lost." 

"  IN  0  so ,"  cried  Calderon ,  proudly.  "  My  service  is  to 
the  king^  I  have  a  right  to  his  royal  protection ,  for  I  have 
a  claim  on  his  royal  gratitude." 

"  Do  not  deceive  thyself,"  said  the  duke ,  in  a  whisper. 
"  The  king  cannot  live  long  :  1  have  it  from  the  best  au- 
thority, his  physician:  nor  is  this  all  —  a  formidable  con- 
spiracy against  thee  exists  at  court.  But  for  myself  and  the 
king's  confessor,  Philip  would  consent  to  thy  ruin.  The 
strong  hold  thou  hast  over  him  is  in  thy  influence  with  the 
Infant  —  an  influence  which  he  knows  to  be  exerted  on 
behalf  of  his  own  fearful  and  jealous  policy  •,  that  influence 
gone ,  neither  I  nor  Aliaga  could  suffice  to  protect  thee. 
Enough  !  Shut  every  access  to  Philip's  heart  against 
Uzeda." 

15 


22G  CALDERON. 

Calderon  bowed  in  silence ,  and  the  duke  hastened  to 
tlie  royal  cabinet. 

"  What  a  fool  was  I  to  think  that  I  could  still  wear  a 
conscience!"  muttered  Calderon,  with  a  sneering  hp  •, 
"  but,  Uzeda,  I  will  baffle  thee  yet." 

The  next  morning  ,  the  Marquis  de  Siete  Iglesias  pre- 
sented himself  at  the  levee  of  the  Prince  of  Spain. 

Around  the  favourite,  as  his  proud  stature  towered  above 
the  rest,  flocked  the  obsequious  grandees.  The  haughty 
smile  was  yet  on  his  lip ,  when  the  door  opened  ,  and  the 
prince  entered.  The  crowd,  in  parting  suddenly,  left 
Calderon  immediately  in  front  of  Philip ;  who ,  after  gazing 
on  him  sternly  for  a  moment ,  turned  away ,  with  marked 
discourtesy,  from  the  favourite's  profound  reverence,  and 
began  a  low  and  smiling  conversation  with  Gonsalez  de 
Leon  ,  one  of  Calderon's  open  foes. 

The  crowd  exchanged  looks  of  dehght  and  surprise^  and 
each  of  the  nobles  ,  before  so  wooing  in  their  civilities  to 
the  minister,  edged  cautiously  away. 

His  mortification  had  but  begun.  Presently  Uzeda, 
hitherto  almost  a  stranger  to  those  apartments ,  appeared  •, 
the  prince  hastened  to  him  ^  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  the 
duke  was  seen  following  the  prince  into  his  private  cham- 
ber. The  sun  of  Calderon's  favour  seemed  set.  So  thought 
the  courtiers  :  not  so  the  haughty  favourite.  There  was 
even  a  smile  of  triumph  on  his  lip  —  a  sanguine  flush  upon 
his  pale  cheek ,  as  he  turned  unheeding  from  the  throng , 
and  then ,  entering  his  carriage ,  regained  his  home. 

He  had  scarcely  re-entered  his  cabinet ,  ere ,  faithful  to 
his  appointment,  Fonseca  was  announced. 

"  What  tidings ,  my  best  of  friends?"  exclaimed  the  sol- 
dier. 

Calderon  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

*'  My  dear  pupil,"  said  he,  in  accents  of  well-afi'ected 
sympathy,  "  there  is  no  hope  for  thee.  Forget  this  vain 
dream  —  return  to  the  army.   I  can  promise  thee  pro- 


CALDERON.  227 

motion  ,  rank ,  honours  ;  but  the  hand  of  Beatriz  is  beyond 
my  power." 

"■  How?"  said  Fonseca  ,  turning  pale,  and  sinking  into 
a  seat.  "  How  is  this?  why  so  sudden  a  change?  has  the 
queen " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  majesty  *,  but  the  king  is  resolved 
upon  this  matter  :  so  are  the  inquisition.  The  church 
complains  of  recent  and  numerous  examples  of  unholy  and 
impolitic  relaxation  of  her  dread  power.  The  court  dare 
not  interfere.  The  novice  must  be  left  to  her  own  choice." 

"  And  is  there  no  hope?" 

"  None !  Return  to  the  excitement  of  thy  brave  career." 

'*  Never!"  cried  Fonseca  ,  with  great  vehemence.  ''  ]f , 
in  requital  of  all  my  services  —  of  life  risked ,  blood  spilt , 
I  cannot  obtain  a  boon  so  easy  to  accord  me ,  I  renounce  a 
service  in  which  even  fame  has  lost  its  charm.  And  hark 
you ,  Calderon .  I  tell  you  that  I  will  not  forego  this  pursuit. 
So  fair ,  so  innocent  a  victim  shall  not  be  condemned  to 
that  living  tomb.  Through  the  walls  of  the  nunnery,  through 
the  spies  of  the  inquisition ,  love  will  find  out  its  way  5  and 
in  some  distant  land  I  will  yet  unite  happiness  and  honour. 
1  fear  not  exile  ^  1  fear  not  reverse  -,  I  no  longer  fear  poverty 
itself.  All  lands ,  where  the  sound  of  the  trumpet  is  not 
unknown ,  can  afford  career  to  the  soldier ,  who  asks  from 
Heaven  no  other  boon  but  his  mistress  and  his  sword." 

*' You  will  seek  to  abstract  Beatriz,  then?"  said  Cal- 
deron, calmly  and  musingly.  "  Yes — it  may  be  your  best 
course ,  if  you  take  the  requisite  precautions.  But ,  can 
you  see  her-,  can  you  concert  with  her?  " 

"  I  think  so.  I  trust  I  have  already  paved  the  way  to 
an  interview.  Yesterday,  after  1  quitted  thee ,  I  sought 
the  convent ;  and ,  as  the  chapel  is  one  of  the  pijblic  sights 
of  the  city,  I  made  my  curiosity  my  excuse.  Happily,  I 
recognised  in  the  porter  of  the  convent  an  old  servitor  of 
my  father's  •,  he  had  known  me  from  a  child — he  dislikes 
his  calliDg-— he  will  consent  to  accompany  our  flight ,  to 


228  CALDERON. 

share  our  fortunes  :  he  has  promised  to  convey  a  letter 
from  me  to  Beatriz ,  and  to  transmit  to  me  her  answer." 

"  The  stars  smile  on  thee,  Don  Martin.  When  thou 
hast  learned  more,  consult  with  me  again.  Now  I  see  a 
way  to  assist  thee." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AVEB    UPON    ^VEB. 

The  next  day,  to  the  discomfiture  of  the  courtiers , 
Calderon  and  the  Infant  of  Spain  were  seen  together, 
publicly,  on  the  parade  •,  and  the  secretary  made  one  of 
the  favoured  few  who  attended  the  prince  at  the  theatre. 
His  favour  was  greater,  his  power  more  dazzling,  than 
ever  it  had  been  known  before.  No  cause  for  the  breach 
and  reconciliation  being  known,  some  attributed  it  to 
caprice ,  others  to  the  wily  design  of  the  astute  Calderon 
for  the  humihation  of  Uzeda ,  who  seemed  only  to  have 
been  admitted  to  one  smile  from  the  rising  sun ,  in  order 
more  signally  to  be  reconsigned  to  the  shade. 

Meanwhile ,  Fonseca  prospered  almost  beyond  his 
hopes.  Young,  ardent,  sanguine,  the  poor  novice  had 
fled  from  her  quiet  home ,  and  the  indulgence  of  her  free 
thoughts ,  to  the  chill  solitude  of  the  cloister,  httle  dream- 
ing of  the  extent  of  the  change.  With  a  heart  that  over- 
flowed with  the  warm  thoughts  of  love  and  youth  ,  the 
ghostlike  shapes  that  flitted  round  her^  the  icy  forms,  the 
rigid  ceremonials  of  that  life ,  which  is  but  the  mimicry 
of  death ,  appalled  and  shocked  her.  That  she  had  pre- 
served against  a  royal  and  most  perilous ,  because  unscru- 
pulous, suitor,  her  fidelity  to  the  absent  Fonseca,  w^as  her 
sole  consolation. 
Another  circumstance  had  combined  with  the  loss  of 


CALDERON.  229 

her  protectress  ,  and  the  absence  of  Don  Martin ,  to  sadden 
her  heart,  and  dispose  her  to  the  cloister.  On  the  deathbed 
of  the  old  woman ,  ^Yho  had  been  to  her  as  a  mother,  she 
had  learned  a  secret  hitherto  concealed  from  her  tender 
youth.  Dark  and  tragic  were  the  influences  of  the  star  which 
had  shone  upon  her  birth ;  gloomy  the  heritage  of  memo- 
ries associated  with  her  parentage.  A  letter,  of  which  she 
now  became  the  guardian  and  treasurer— a  letter  in  her 
mother's  hand- woke  tears  more  deep  and  bitter  than  she 
had  ever  shed  for  herself.  In  that  letter,  she  read  the 
strength  and  the  fidelity,  the  sorrow  and  the  gloom  ,  of 
woman's  love  ^  and  a  dreary  foreboding  told  her  that  the 
shadow  of  the  mother's  fate  was  cast  over  the  child's. 
Such  were  the  thoughts  that  had  made  the  cloister  wel- 
come, till  the  desolation  of  the  shelter  was  tried  and 
known.  But  when ,  through  the  agency  of  the  porter  , 
Fonseca's  letter  reached  her,  all  other  feelings  gave  way 
to  the  burst  of  natural  and  passionate  emotion.  The  absent 
had  returned  ,  again  wooed  ,  was  still  faithful.  The  awful 
vow  was  not  spoken— she  might  yet  be  his.  She  answer- 
ed; she  chided;  she  spoke  of  doubt ,  of  peril,  of  fear  for 
him  ,  of  maiden  shame  •,  but  her  afTection  coloured  every 
word,  and  the  letter  was  full  of  hope.  The  correspondence 
continued  ;  the  energetic  remonstrances  of  Fonseca  ,  the 
pure  and  fervent  attachment  of  the  novice ,  led  more  and 
more  rapidly  and  surely  to  the  inevitable  result.  Beatriz 
yielded  to  the  prayer  of  her  lover-,  she  consented  to  the 
scheme  of  escape  and  flight  that  he  proposed. 

Late  at  evening  Fonseca  sought  Calderon.  The  marquis 
was  in  the  gardens  of  his  splendid  mansion. 

The  moonlight  streamed  over  many  a  row  of  orange- 
trees  and  pomegranates— many  a  v;hite  and  richly  sculp- 
tured vase,  on  its  marble  pedestal  —  many  a  fountain  , 
that  scattered  its  low  music  round  the  breathless  air.  Vpbn 
a  terrace  that  commanded  a  stately  view  of  the  spires  and 
palaces  of  Madrid ,  stood  Calderon  alone  -,  beside  him  , 


230  CALDEROX. 

one  solitary  and  gigantic  aloe  cast  its  deep  gloom  of  shade  ^ 
and  his  motionless  attitude,  his  folded  arms,  his  face 
partially  hfted  to  the  starlit  heavens ,  bespoke  the  earnest- 
ness and  concentration  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Why  does  this  shudder  come  over  me?"  said  he ,  half 
aloud.  ''  It  was  thus  in  that  dismal  hour  which  preceded 
the  knowledge  of  my  shame —  the  deed  of  a  dark  revenge 
— the  revolution  of  my  eventful  and  wondrous  life  I  Ah! 
how  happy  was  I  once!  a  contented  and  tranquil  student  ^ 
a  believer  in  those  eyes  that  were  to  me  as  the  stars  to  the 
astrologer.  But  the  golden  age  passed  into  that  of  iron. 
And  now,"  added  Calderon,  with  a  self-mocking  sneer, 
"  comes  the  era  which  the  poets  have  not  chronicled  •, 
for  fraud,  and  hypocrisy,  and  vice,  know  no  poets!" 

The  quick  step  of  Fonseca  interrupted  the  courtier's 
reverie.  He  turned ,  knit  his  brow,  and  sighed  heavily, 
as  if  nerving  himself  to  some  effort ;  but  his  brow  was 
smooth ,  and  his  aspect  cheerful ,  ere  Fonseca  reached 
his  side. 

"  Give  me  joy,  give  me  joy,  dear  Calderon!  she  has 
consented,  ^'ow,  then,  your  promised  aid." 

"-  You  can  depend  upon  the  fidelity  of  your  friendly 
porter? " 

"  With  my  life." 

"  A  master  key  to  the  back-door  of  the  chapel  has  been 
made?" 

"  See,  I  have  it." 

"  And  Beatriz  can  contrive  to  secrete  herself  in  the  con- 
fessional at  the  hour  of  the  night  prayers?  ' 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  her  doing  so  with  safety.  The 
number  of  the  novices  is  so  great ,  that  one  of  them  cannot 
well  be  missed." 

"  So  much  ,  then  ,  for  your  part  of  the  enterprise.  >ow 
fof  mine.  You  know^  that  solitary  house  in  the  suburbs , 
on  the  high  road  to  Fuencarral,  which  I  pointed  out  to 
you  yesterday  ?   Well ,  the  owner   is  a  creature  of  mine. 


CVLDERON.  231 

There,  horses  shall  be  in  waiting^  there,  disguises  shall 
be  prepared.  Beatriz  must:  necessarily  divest  herself  of  the 
professional  dress;  you  had  better  choose  meaner  gar- 
ments for  yourself.  Drop  those  hidalgo  titles  of  Avhich 
your  father  is  so  proud ,  and  pass  off  yourself  and  the 
novice  as  a  notary  and  his  wife ,  about  to  visit  France  on 
a  lawsuit  of  inheritance.  One  of  my  secretaries  shall  pro- 
vide you  with  a  pass.  Meanwhile,  to-morrow,  I  shall 
be  the  first  officially  to  hear  of  the  flight  of  the  novice  •,  and 
I  will  set  the  pursuers  on  a  wrong  scent.  Have  1  not  ar- 
ranged all  things  properly,  my  Fonseca? " 

"  You  are  our  guardian  angel !''  cried  Don  Martin,  fer- 
vently. "  The  prayers  of  Beatriz  will  be  registered  in 
your  behalf  above  —  prayers  that  will  reach  the  Great 
Throne  as  easily  from  the  open  valleys  of  France  as  in 
the  gloomy  cloisters  of  Madrid.  At  midnight ,  to-morrow, 
then,  we  seek  the  house  you  have  described  tons.'' 
"  Ay,  at  midnight ,  all  shall  be  prepared." 
With  a  hght  step  and  exulting  heart ,  Fonseca  turned 
from  the  palace  of  Calderon.  Naturally  sanguine  and  high- 
spirited  ,  visions  of  hope  and  joy  floated  before  his  eyes^ 
and  the  future  seemed  to  him  a  land  owning  but  the  twin 
deities  of  Glory  and  Love. 

He  had  reached  about  the  centre  of  the  street  in  which 
Calderon's  abode  was  placed,  when  six  men,  who  for  some 
moments  had  been  watching  him  from  a  little  distance, 
approached. 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  one  who  appeared  the  chief  of 
the  band ,  "  that  I  have  the  honour  to  address  Senor  Don 
Martin  Fonseca  ? " 
"  Such  is  my  name." 

''  In  the  name  of  the  king  ,  we  arrest  you.  Follow  us." 
"  Arrest!  on  what  plea?  what  is  my  offence?" 
"  It  is  stated  on  this  writ,  signed  by  his  eminence  the 
Cardinal  Duke  de  Lerma.  You  are  charged  with  the  crime 
of  desertion." 


232  CALDERON. 

"  Thou  liest,  knave!  I  had  the  general's  free  permission 
to  quit  the  camp." 

"  We  have  said  all  —  follow." 

Fonseca,  naturally  of  the  most  impetuous  and  pas- 
sionate character ,  was  not ,  in  that  moment ,  in  a  mood  to 
calculate  coldly  all  the  consequences  of  resistance.  Arrest 
—  imprisonment  —  on  the  eve  before  that  which  was  to 
see  him  the  deliverer  of  Beatriz ,  constituted  a  sentence  of 
such  despair ,  that  all  other  considerations  vanished  before 
it.  He  set  his  teeth  firmly,  drew  his  sword ,  dashed  aside 
the  aiguazil  who  attempted  to  obstruct  his  path ,  and  strode 
grimly  on,  shaking  one 'Clenched  hand  in  defiance,  while, 
with  the  other ,  he  waved  the  good  toledo  that  had  often 
blazed  in  the  van  of  battle ,  at  the  war-cry  of  "  St.  Jago 
and  Spain  I " 

The  alguazils  closed  around  the  soldier ,  and  the  clash  of 
swords  was  already  heard  ^  when ,  suddenly ,  torches , 
borne  on  high  ,  threw  their  glare  across  the  moonlit  street , 
and  two  running  footmen  called  out ,  "Make  way  for  the 
most  noble  the  Marquis  de  Siete  Iglesias  I "  At  that  name 
Fonseca  dropped  the  point  of  his  weapon ;  the  alguazils 
themselves  drew  aside  ^  and  the  tall  figure  and  pale  coun- 
tenance of  Calderon  w^ere  visible  amongst  the  group. 

^'  What  means  this  brawl,  in  the  open  streets,  at  this 
late  hour? "  said  the  minister  ,  sternly. 

"  Calderon!"  exclaimed  Fonseca  :  "this  is,  indeed, 
fortunate.  These  caitiffs  ha,ve  dared  to  lay  hands  on  a 
soldier  of  Spain ,  and  to  forge  for  their  villany  the  name  of 
his  own  kinsman  ,  the  Duke  de  Lerma.  " 

"  Your  charge  against  this  gentleman  ? "  asked  Calderon, 
calmly ,  turning  to  the  principal  aiguazil ,  who  placed  the 
WTit  of  arrest  in  the  secretary's  hand.  Calderon  read  it 
leisurely,  and  raised  his  hat  as  he  returned  it  to  the  aiguazil : 
he  then  drew  aside  Fonseca. 

"  Are  you  mad? "  said  he  ,  in  a  whisper.  "  Do  you  think 
you  can  resist  the  law?  Had  I  not  arrived  so  opportunely. 


CALUERO.X.  233 

you  would  have  converted  a  slight  accusation  into  a  capital 
offence.  Go  with  these  men  :  do  not  fear ;  I  will  see  the 
duke  ,  and  obtain  your  immediate  release.  To-morrow ,  I 
will  visit  and  accompany  you  home. " 

Fonseca,  still  half  beside  himself  with  rage  ,  would  have 
replied ,  but  Calderon  significantly  placed  his  Onger  on  his 
lip  ,  and  turned  to  the  alguazils  :  — 

"  There  is  a  mistake  here  :  it  will  be  rectified  to-morrow. 
Treat  this  cavalier  with  all  the  respect  and  worship  due  to 
his  birth  and  merits.  Go,  Don  Martin,  go,"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  voices  "  go,  unless  you  desire  to  lose  Beatriz  forever. 
Nothing  but  obedience  can  save  you  from  the  imprison- 
ment of  half  a  life  I  " 

Awed  and  subdued  by  this  threat ,  Fonseca ,  in  gloomy 
silence,  placed  his  sword  in  its  sheath,  and  sullenly  fol- 
lowed the  alguazils.  Calderon  watched  them  depart  with  a 
thoughtful  and  absent  look  ;  then ,  starting  from  his  reverie, 
he  bade  his  torchbearers  proceed ,  and  resumed  his  way  to 
the  Prince  of  Spain. 


CHAPTER  Vll. 

THE   OPEN    COU.NTENANCE ,    THE   CONCEALED    THOUGHTS. 

The  nex  day ,  at  noon  ,  Calderon  visited  Fonseca  in  his 
place  of  confinement.  The  young  man  was  seated  by  a 
window  that  overlooked  a  large  dull  court-yard ,  with  a 
neglected  and  broken  fountain  in  the  centre,  leaning  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand.  His  long  hair  was  dishevelled  ,  his 
dress  disordered,  and  a  gloomy  frown  darkened  features  na- 
turally open  and  ingenuous.  He  started  to  his  feet  as  Cal- 
deron approached. 

''  My  release—  you  have  brought  my  release  —  let  us 
forth ! '' 


234  CALDEROX. 

"  My  dear  pupil ,  be  ruled ,  be  calm.  I  have  seen  the 
duke  :  the  cause  of  your  imprisonment  is  as  I  suspected. 
Some  imprudent  words,  overheard,  perhaps,  but  by  your 
valet,  have  escaped  you  •,  words  intimating  your  resolution 
not  to  abandon  Beatriz.  You  know  your  kinsman ,  a  man  of 
doubts  and  fears ,  of  forms ,  ceremonies ,  and  scruples. 
From  very  affection  for  his  kindred  and  yourself ,  he  has 
contrived  your  arrest  ^  all  my  expostulations  have  been  in 
vain.  I  fear  your  imprisonment  may  continue  ,  either  until 
you  give  a  solemn  promise  to  renounce  all  endeavour  to 
dissuade  Beatriz  from  the  final  vows,  or  until  she  herself 
has  pronounced  them." 

Fonseca  ,  as  if  stupified,  stared  a  moment  at  Calderon, 
and  then  burst  into  a  wild  laugh.  Calderon  continued,  — 

"  Nevertheless  ,  do  not  despair.  Be  patient  ^  I  am  ever 
about  the  duke-,  nay,  I  have  the  courage,  in  your  cause  ,  to 
appeal  even  to  the  king  himself." 

"  And  to-night  she  expects  me  —  to-night  she  was  to  be 
free  I " 

"  We  can  convey  the  intelligence  of  your  mischance  to 
her  :  the  porter  will  befriend  you." 

*'Away,  false  friend,  or  powerless  protector,  that  you  are! 
Are  your  promises  of  aid  come  to  this  ?  But  I  care  not  5 
my  case ,  my  wrongs ,  shall  be  laid  before  the  king  ^  I  will 
inquire  if  it  be  thus  that  Philip  the  Third  treats  the  de- 
fenders of  his  crown  ?  Don  Roderigo  Calderon  ,  will  you 
place  my  memorial  in  the  hands  of  your  royal  master?  Do 
this  ,  and  I  will  thank  you." 

"  No,  Fonseca,  I  will  not  ruin  you^  the  king  would 
pass  your  memorial  to  the  Duke  de  Lerma.  Tush ,  this  is 
not  the  way  that  men  of  sense  deal  with  misfortune.  Think 
you  1  should  be  what  I  now  am  ,  if ,  in  every  reverse,  I  had 
raved  ,  and  not  reflected  ?  Sit  down ,  and  let  us  think  of 
what  can  now  be  done." 

*'  Nothing,  unless  the  prison-door  open  by  sunset  I " 

"  Stay  ,  a  thought  strikes  me.  The  term  of  your  impri- 


CALDERO>-.  235 

sonment  ceases  when  you  relinquish  the  hope  of  Beatriz. 
But  what  if  the  duke  could  beheve  that  Beatriz  rehnquished 
you  ?  What  for  instance  .  if  she  fled  from  the  convent ,  as 
you  proposed  ,  and  we  could  persuade  the  duke  that  it  was 
with  another?  " 

"  Ah,  be  silent  I" 

"  Nay,  what  advantages  in  this  scheme  —  what  safety  ! 
If  she  tly  alone ,  or .  as  supposed  ,  with  another  lover,  the 
duke  will  have  no  interest  in  pursuit ,  in  punishment.  She 
is  not  of  that  birth  that  the  state  will  take  the  trouble  ,  very 
actively,  to  interfere  :  she  may  reach  France  in  safety  •,  ay , 
a  thousand  times  more  safely  than  if  she  fled  with  you,  a 
hidalgo  and  a  man  of  rank,  whom  the  state  would  have  an 
interest  to  reclaim,  and  to  whom  the  inquisition,  hating  the 
nobles  ,  would  impute  the  crime  of  sacrilege.  It  is  an  ex- 
cellent thought  I  Your  imprisonment  may  be  the  salvation 
of  you  both  :  your  plan  may  succeed  still  better  without 
your  intervention  :  and  ,  after  a  few  days,  the  duke,  believ- 
ing that  your  resentment  must  necessarily  replace  your 
love,  will  order  your  release ;  you  can  join  Beatriz  on  the 
frontier,  and  escape  with  her  to  France." 

"But,  "  said  Fonseca,  struck,  but  not  convinced  ,  by 
the  suggestion  of  Calderon  ,  "  who  will  take  my  place  with 
Beatriz?  who  penetrate  into  the  garden?  who  bear  her  from 
the  convent? " 

"  That,  for  your  sake,  will  I  do.  Perhaps,"  added  Cal- 
deron ,  smiling ,  "  a  courtier  may  manage  such  an  intrigue 
with  even  more  dexterity  than  a  soldier.  I  will  bear  her 
to  the  house  we  spoke  of;  there  I  know  she  can  lie  hid  in 
safety,  till  the  languid  pursuit  of  uninterested  officials  shall 
cease,  and  thence  I  can  easily  find  means  to  transport  her, 
under  safe  and  honourable  escort,  to  any  place  it  may 
please  you  to  appoint." 

.     "  And  think  you  Beatriz  will  fly  with  you  ,  a  stranger? 
Impossible  I    Your  plan  pleases  me  not." 

"Nor  does  it  please  me,"  said  Calderon,  coldly:  "  the 


236  CALDEROA. 

risks  I  proposed  to  run  are  too  imminent  to  be  contem- 
plated complacently  :  I  thank  you  for  releasing  me  from 
my  offer ;  nor  should  I  have  made  it ,  Fonseca  ,  but  from 
this  fear,  — what  if  to-morrow  the  duke  himself  (he  is  a 
churchman  ,  remember)  see  the  novice?  what  if  he  terrify 
her  with  threats  against  yourself?  what  if  he  induce  the 
abbess  and  the  church  to  abridge  the  noviciate  ?  what  if 
Beatriz  be  compelled  or  awed  into  taking  the  veil?  what  if 
you  be  released  even  next  week ,  and  find  her  lost  to  you 
for  ever  ? " 

''They  cannot  — they  dare  not!  " 

"  The  duke  dares  all  things  for  ambition  ;  your  alliance 
with  Beatriz  he  would  hold  a  disgrace  to  his  house.  Think 
not  my  warnings  are  without  foundation— I  speak  from 
authority  ^  such  is  the  course  the  Duke  de  Lerma  has 
resolved  upon.  IS  othing  else  could  have  induced  me  to  offer 
to  brave  for  your  sake  all  the  hazard  of  outraging  the  law, 
and  braving  the  terrors  of  the  inquisition.  But  let  us  think 
of  some  other  plan.  Is  your  escape  possible?  1  fear  not. 
IVo ;  you  must  trust  to  my  chance  of  persuading  the  duke 
into  prosecuting  the  matter  no  further^  trust  to  some 
mightier  scheme  engrossing  all  his  thoughts ;  to  a  fit  of 
good-humour  alter  his  siesta;  or,  perhaps,  an  attack  of 
the  gout,  or  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  Such ,  after  all ,  are  the 
chances  of  human  felicity,  the  pivots  on  which  turns  the 
solemn  wheel  of  human  life  I  " 

Fonseca  made  no  reply  for  some  moments  ;  he  traversed 
the  room  with  hasty  and  disordered  strides,  and  at  last 
stopped  abruptly. 

"  Calderon ,  there  is  no  option ;  I  must  throw  myself  on 
your  generosity,  your  faith,  your  friendship.  I  will  write 
to  Beatriz  ;  I  will  tell  her,  for  my  sake ,  to  confide  in  you." 

As  he  spoke ,  Don  Martin  turned  to  the  table ,  and  wrote 
a  hasty  and  impassioned  note,  in  which  he  implored  the^ 
novice  to  trust  herself  to  the  directions  of  Don  Eoderigo 
Calderon ,  his  best,  his  only  friend  ;  and,  as  he  placed  this 


CAi.DEIlOA.  237 

letter  in  the  hands  of  the  courtier,  he  turned  aside  to  con- 
ceal his  emotions.  Calderon  himself  ^vas  deeply  moved  : 
his  cheek  was  flushed,  and  his  hand  seemed  tremulous  as 
it  took  the  letter. 

*'  Remember,"  said  Fonseca,  "  that  1  trust  to  you  my 
life  of  life.  As  you  are  true  to  me,  may  Heaven  be  merciful 
to  you  I" 

Calderon  made  no  answer,  but  turned  to  the  door. 

"Stay,"  said  Fonseca;  "I  had  forgot  this  —  here  is  the 
master  key." 

"True ;  how  dull  I  was  I  And  the  porter— will  he  attend 
to  thy  proxy?" 

"  Doubt  it  not.  Accost  him  with  the  word  ,  'Grenada,' 
—But  he  expects  to  share  the  tlight." 

"That  can  be  arranged.  To-morrow  you  will  hear  of 
my  success.    Farewell  I " 


CHAPTER  VHL 

THE  ESCAPE. 

It  was  midnight ,  in  the  chapel  of  the  convent. 

The  moonlight  shone  with  exceeding  lustre  through 
the  tall  casements ,  and  lit  into  a  ghastly  semblance  of  life 
the  marble  images  of  saint  and  martyr,  that  threw  their 
long  shadows  over  the  consecrated  floor.  Nothing  could 
well  be  conceived  more  dreary,  solemn ,  and  sepulchral , 
than  that  holy  place  :  its  distained  and  time-hallowed 
w^alls ;  the  impenetrable  mass  of  darkness  that  gathered 
into  those  recesses  which  the  moonlight  failed  to  reach ; 
its  antique  and  massive  tombs ,  above  which  reclined  the 
sculptured  effigies  of  some  departed  patroness  or  abbess  , 
who  had  exchanged  a  living  grave  for  the  Mansions  of 
the  Blest.  But  there — oh,  wonderful  human  heart!  — even 


"ISS  CALDEKON. 

there  ,  in  that  spot ,  the  very  homily  and  warning  against 
earthly  affections,  and  mortal  hopes  —  even  there,  could- 
est  thou  beat  with  as  wild ,  as  bright ,  and  as  pure  a  pas- 
sion as  ever  heaved  the  breast ,  and  shone  in  the  eyes  of 
Beauty,  in  the  free  air  that  ripples  the  Guadiana,  or  amidst 
the  twilight  dance  of  Castilian  maids ! 

A  tall  figure ,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  cloak , 
passed  slowly  up  the  aisle.  But  light  and  cautious  though 
the  footstep,  it  woke  a  low,  hollow,  ominous  echo,  that 
seemed  more  than  the  step  itself  to  disturb  the  sanctity  of 
the  place.  It  paused  opposite  to  a  confessional,  which  was 
but  dimly  visible  through  the  shadows  around  it.  And'- 
then  there  emerged  timidly  a  female  form^  and  a  soft 
voice  whispered  —  "  It  is  thou ,  Fonseca !  " 

"  Hist!"  was  the  answer;  "he  waits  without.  Be  quick; 
speak  not      come." 

Beatriz  recoiled  in  surprise  and  alarm  at  the  voice  of  a 
stranger ;  but  the  man ,  seizing  her  by  the  hand ,  drew 
her  hastily  from  the  chapel ,  and  hurried  her  across  the 
garden ,  through  a  small  postern  door,  which  stood  ajar, 
into  an  obscure  street,  bordering  the  convent  walls.  Here 
stood  the  expectant  porter,  with  a  bundle  in  his  hand , 
which  he  opened ,  and  took  thence  a  long  cloak,  such  as 
the  women  of  middling  rank  in  Madrid  wore  in  the  winter 
season,  with  the  customary  mantilla  or  veil.  With  these, 
still  without  speaking,  the  stranger  hastily  shrouded  the 
form  of  the  novice,  and  once  more  hurried  her  on ,  till , 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  garden  gate,  he  came  to 
a  carriage ,  into  w^hich  he  lifted  Beatriz ,  whispered  a  few 
words  to  the  porter,  seated  himself  by  the  side  of  the 
novice ,  and  the  vehicle  drove  rapidly  away. 

It  was  some  moments  before  Beatriz  could  sufficiently 
recover  from  her  first  agitation  and  terror,  to  feel  alive  to 
all  the  strangeness  of  her  situation. — She  was  alone  with  a 
stranger  —  where  was  Fonseca?  She  turned  suddenly 
towards  her  companion. 


CALDEROxX.  239 

"  AVho  art  thou  /"  she  said;  "  whither  art  thou  leading 
rae — and  why " 

"^^hy  is  not  Don  Martin  by  thy  side?  Pardon  me, 
senora :  I  have  a  billet  for  thee  from  Fonseca  ^  in  a  few 
rainutes  thou  wilt  know  all." 

x\t  this  time  the  vehicle  came  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a 
train  of  footmen  and  equipages,  that  choked  up  the  way. 
There  was  a  brilliant  entertainment  at  the  French  embassy, 
and  thither  flocked  all  the  rank  and  chivalry  of  Madrid. 
Calderon  drew  down  the  blinds,  and  hastily  enjoined 
silence  on  Beatriz.  It  w^as  some  minutes  before  the  driver 
extricated  himself  from  the  throng^  and  then,  as  if  to 
make  amends  for  the  delay,  he  put  his  horses  to  their  full 
speed,  and  carefully  selected  the  most  obscure  and  solitary 
thoroughfares.  At  length  the  carriage  entered  the  range  of 
suburbs,  which  still,  at  this  day,  the  traveller  passes  on 
his  road  from  Madrid  to  France.  The  horses  stopped 
before  a  lonely  house,  that  stood  a  little  apart  from  the 
road,  and  which,  from  the  fashion  of  its  architecture, 
appeared  of  considerable  antiquity.  The  stranger  descend- 
ed ,  and  knocked  twice  at  the  door  :  it  was  opened  by  an 
old  man,  whose  exaggerated  features,  bended  frame,  and 
long  beard ,  proclaimed  him  of  the  race  of  Israel.  After  a 
short  and  whispered  parley,  the  stranger  returned  to 
Beatriz ,  gravely  assisted  her  from  the  carriage ,  and  lead- 
ing her  across  the  threshold ,  and  up  a  flight  of  rude  stairs, 
dimly  lighted ,  entered  a  chamber  richly  furnished.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  stuffs  of  gorgeous  colouring  and 
elaborate  design.  Pedestals  of  the  whitest  marble ,  placed 
at  each  corner  of  the  room,  supported  candelabra  of  silver. 
The  sofas  and  couches  were  of  the  heavy,  but  sumptuous 
fashion  which  then  prevailed  in  the  palaces  of  France  and 
Spain ;  and  of  which  Venice  the  true  model  of  the  bar- 
baric decorations  with  which  Louis  the  Fourteenth  cor- 
rupted the  taste  of  Paris)  was  probably  the  original  in- 
ventor.    In  an  alcove,   beneath    a    silken    canopy,  was 


240  CALDERON. 

prepared  a  table ,  laden  with  wines,  fruits,  and  viands; 
and,  altogether,  the  elegance  and  luxury  that  characterised 
the  apartment  were  in  strong  and  strange  contrast  with 
the  half-ruined  exterior  of  the  abode ,  the  gloomy  and 
rude  approach  to  the  chamber,  and  the  mean  and  servile 
aspect  of  the  Jew,  who  stood,  or  rather  cowered,  by  the 
door,  as  if  waiting  for  further  orders.  With  a  wave  of 
the  hand ,  the  stranger  dismissed  the  Israelite ;  and  then 
approaching  Beatriz ,  presented  to  her  Fonseca's  letter. 

As,  with  an  enchanting  mixture  of  modesty  and  eagerness, 
Beatriz ,  half  averting  her  face ,  bent  over  the  well-known 
characters ,  Calderon  gazed  upon  her  with  a  scrutinising 
and  curious  eye. 

The  courtier  was  not ,  in  this  instance,  altogether  the 
villain  that  from  outward  appearances  the  reader  may  have 
deemed  him.  His  plan  was  this  :  he  had  resolved  on  com- 
pliance with  the  wishes  of  the  prince  —  his  safety  rested 
on  that  compliance.  But  Fonseca  was  not  to  be  sacrificed 
without  reserve.  Profoundly  despising  womankind ,  and 
firmly  persuaded  of  their  constitutional  treachery  and 
deceit ,  Calderon  could  not  believe  the  actress  that  angel 
of  light  and  purity  which  she  seemed  to  the  enamoured  Fon- 
seca. He  had  resolved  to  subject  her  to  the  ordeal  of  the 
prince's  addresses.  If  she  fell,  should  he  not  save  his  friend 
from  being  the  dupe  of  an  artful  intriguante  ?  —  should 
he  not  deserve  the  thanks  of  Don  Martin ,  for  the  very 
temptation  to  which  Beatriz  was  now  to  be  submitted?  If 
he  could  convince  Fonseca  of  her  falsehood,  he  should 
stand  acquitted  to  his  friend  ,  while  he  should  have  secured 
his  interest  with  the  prince.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
Beatriz  came  spotless  through  the  trial  5  if  the  prince , 
stung  by  her  obstinate  virtue,  should  menace  to  sink  court- 
ship into  violence,  Calderon  knew  that  it  would  not  be  in 
the  first  or  second  interview  that  the  novice  would  have 
any  real  danger  to  apprehend  •,  and  he  should  have  leisure 
to  concert  her  escape  by  such  means  as  would  completely 


CALDERON.  241 

conceal  from  the  prince  his  own  connivance  at  her  flight. 
Such  was  the  compromise  that  Calderon  had  effected  be- 
tween his  conscience  and  his  ambition.  But ,  while  he  gazed 
upon  the  novice ,  though  her  features  were  turned  from 
him  ,  and  half  veiled  by  the  head-dress  she  had  assumed , 
strange  feelings ,  ominous  and  startling ,  like  those  re- 
membrances of«  the  Past  which  sometimes  come  in  the 
guise  of  prophecies  of  the  Future ,  thronged ,  indistinct 
and  dim ,  upon  his  breast.  The  unconscious  and  exquisite 
grace  of  her  form  ,  its  touching  youth  ,  an  air  of  innocence 
diffused  around  it,  a  something  ,  helpless  and  pleading  to 
man's  protection,  in  the  very  shghtness  of  her  beautiful 
but  fairy-Hke  proportions,  seemed  to  reproach  his  treachery, 
and  to  awaken  whatever  of  pity  or  human  softness  remained 
in  his  heart. 

The  novice  had  read  the  lettef  j  and ,  turning ,  in  the 
impulse  of  surprise  and  alarm,  to  Calderon  for  explanation, 
for  the  first  time  she  remarked  his  features  and  his  aspect  ^ 
for  he  had  then  laid  aside  his  cloak,  and  the  broad  Spanish 
hat,  with  its  heavy  plume.  It  was  thus  that  their  eyes  met, 
and ,  as  they  did  so,  Beatriz  starting  from  her  seat,  uttered 
a  wild  cry  — 

"  And  thy  name  is  Calderon  —  Don  Roderigo  Calderon  I 
—  is  it  possible?  Hadst  thou  never  another  name? "  she 
exclaimed  ;  and ,  as  she  spoke ,  she  aporoached  him  slowly 
and  fearfully.  • 

"Lady,  Calderon  is  my  name,"  replied  the  marquis  5  but 
his  voice  faltered.  "But  thine  —  thine—  is  it,  in  truth, 
Beatriz  Coello?" 

Beatriz  made  no  reply ,  but  continued  to  advance , 
till  her  very  breath  came  upon  his  cheek  :  she  then  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm ,  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  a  gaze  so  earnest,  so  intent,  so  prolonged,  that 
Calderon  ,  bat  for  a  strange  and  terrible  thought  —  half 
of  wonder ,  half  of  suspicion ,  which  had  gradually  crept 
into  his  soul,  and  now, usurped  it  —  might  have  doubt- 

16 


24-2  CALDERON. 

ed  whether  the  reason  of  the  poor  novice  was  not  un- 
settled. 

Slowly  Beatriz  withdrew  her  eyes ,  and  they  fell  upon  a 
large  mirror  opposite,  which  reflected  in  full  light  the 
features  of  Calderon  and  herself.  It  was  then  —  her  na- 
tural bloom  having  faded  into  a  paleness  scarcely  less  statue- 
like than  that  which  characterised  the  cheek  of  Calderon 
himself ,  and  all  the  sweet  play  and  mobility  of  feature  that 
belong  to  first  youth  being  replaced  by  a  rigid  and  marble 
stillness  of  expression  —  it  was  then  that  a  remarkable  re- 
semblance between  these  two  persons  became  visible  and 
startling.  That  resemblance  struck  alike ,  and  in  the  same 
instant ,  both  Beatriz  and  Calderon  ^  and  both  ,  gazing  on 
the  mirror ,  uttered  an  involuntary  and  simultaneous  ex- 
clamation. 

With  a  trembling  and  hasty  hand  the  novice  searched 
amidst  the  folds  of  her  robe ,  and  drew  forth  a  small  leathern 
case;,  closed  with  clasps  of  silver.  She  touched  the  spring , 
and  took  out  a  miniature ,  upon  which  she  cast  a  rapid 
and  wild  glance  ^  then ,  lifting  her  eyes  to  Calderon ,  she 
cried  ,  —  "It  must  be  so  —  it  is ,  it  is  my  father  I '"  and  fell 
motionless  at  his  feet. 

Calderon  did  not  for  some  moments  heed  the  condition 
of  the  novice  ^  that  chamber,  the  meditated  victim  ,  the  pre- 
sent time ,  the  coming  evil  —  all  were  swept  away  from  his 
soul ;  he  was  transported  back  into  the  past,  with  the  two 
dread  Spirits,  Memory  and  Conscience  I  His  knees  knocked 
together,  his  aspect  was  livid ,  the  cold  drops  stood  upon 
his  brow  ^  he  muttered  incoherently,  and  then  bent  down, 
and  took  up  the  picture.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  in  the 
plain  garb  of  a  Salamanca  student ,  and  in  the  first  flush  of 
youth  :  the  noble  brov/,  serene  and  calm,  and  stamped 
alike  with  candour  and  courage;  the  smooth  cheek,  rich 
with  the  hues  of  health;  the  lips,  parting  in  a  happy 
smile ,  and  eloquent  of  joy  and  hope  :  it  was  the  face  of 
that  wily,  grasping ,  ambitious,  unscrupulous  man  ,  when 


CALDERON.  243 

life  had  yet  brought  no  sin  ^  it  was  as  if  the  ghost  of  youth 
were  come  back  to  accuse  the  crimes  of  manhood !  The 
miniature  fell  from  his  hand  — he  groaned  aloud.  Then, 
gazing  on  the  prostrate  form  of  the  novice ,  he  said ,  — 
"  Poor  wretch  I  can  I  believe  that  thou  art  indeed  of  mine 
own  race  and  blood  ;  or,  rather,  does  not  nature ,  that 
stamped  these  lineaments  on  thy  countenance,  deceive 
and  mock  me?  If  she,  thy  mother,  lied,  why  not  nature 
herself?" 

He  raised  the  novice  in  his  arms ,  and  gazed  long  and 
wistfully  upon  her  lifeless ,  but  most  lovely  features.  She 
moved  not  —  she  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe  •,  yet  he  fancied 
he  felt  her  embrace  tightening  round  him  —  he  fancied  he 
heard  again  the  voice  that  had  hailed  him  "father!" 
His  heart  beat  aloud ,  the  divine  instinct  overpowered  all 
things ,  he  pressed  a  passionate  kiss  upon  her  forehead , 
and  his  tears  fell  fast  and  warm  upon  her  cheek.  But 
again  the  dark  remembrance  crossed  him ,  and  he  shud- 
dered ,  placed  the  novice  hastily  on  one  of  the  couches ,  and 
shouted  aloud. 

The  Jew  appeared ,  and  was  ordered  to  summon  Jacinta. 
A  young  woman  of  the  same  persuasion ,  and  of  harsh  and 
forbidding  exterior,  entered ,  and  to  her  care  Calderon 
briefly  consigned  the  yet  insensible  Beatriz. 

While  Jacinta  unlaced  the  dress,  and  chafed  the  temples, 
of  the  novice,  Calderon  seemed  buried  in  gloomy  thought. 
At  last  he  strode  slowly  away,  as  if  to  quit  the  chamber, 
when  his  foot  struck  against  the  case  of  the  picture ,  and 
his  eye  rested  upon  a  scroll  which  lay  therein ,  folded  and 
embedded.  He  took  it  up,  and  ,  lifting  aside  the  hangings, 
hurried  into  a  small  cabinet,  lighted  by  a  single  lamp. 
Here,  alone  and  unseen,  Calderon  read  the  following 
letter  :  — 

"  To  PvODERIGO  Nui^Z. 

"  Will  this  letter  ever  meet  thine  eyes?  I  know  not ;  but 


2^4  CALDERON. 

il  is  comfort  to  write  to  thee  on  the  bed  of  death ;  and ,  were 
it  not  for  that  horrible  and  haunting  thought ,  that  thou 
believest  me  —  me,  whose  very  hfe  was  in  thy  love  — 
faithless  and  dishonoured  ,  even  death  itself  would  be  the 
sweeter,  because  it  comes  from  the  loss  of  thee.  Yes,  some- 
thing tells  methat  these  hnes  will  not  be  written  in  vain-,  that 
thou  wilt  read  them  yet,  when  this  hand  is  still,  and  this 
brain  at  rest ,  and  that  then  thou  wilt  feel  that  I  could  not 
have  dared  to  write  to  thee  if  I  were  not  innocent-,  that  in 
every  word  thou  wilt  recognise  the  evidence ,  that  is  strong 
as  the  voice  of  thousands ,  —  the  simple  but  solemn  evidence 
of  faith  and  truth.  AVhatI  when  for  thee  I  deserted  all  — 
home ,  and  a  father's  love ,  wealth ,  and  the  name  I  had 
inherited  from  Moors,  who  had  been  monarchs  in  their  day 
—  couldst  thou  think  that  1  had  not  made  the  love  of  thee 
the  core,  and  life,  and  principle  of  my  very  being?  And  one 
short  year,  could  that  sutTice  to  shake  my  faith  ?  —  one  year 
of  marriage ,  but  two  months  of  absence  ?  You  left  me ,  left 
that  dear  home ,  by  the  silver  Xenil.  For  love  did  not  suf- 
fice to  you ;  ambition  began  to  stir  within  you ,  and  you 
called  it '  love.'  You  said  , '  It  grieved  you  that  /  was  poor  -, 
that  you  could  not  restore  to  me  the  luxury  and  wealth  I 
had  lost.'  (Alas I  v,'hy  did  you  turn  so  incredulously  from 
my  assurance ,  that  in  you  ,  and  you  alone ,  were  centred 
my  ambition  and  pride?)  You  declared  that  the  vain  readers 
of  the  stars  had  foretold,  at. your  cradle,  that  you  were 
predestined  to  lofty  honours  and  dazzling  power,  and  that 
the  prophecy  would  work  out  its  own  fulfilment.  You  left 
me  to  seek,  in  Madrid,  your  relation,  who  had  risen  into 
the  favour  of  a  minister,  and  from  whose  love  you  expected 
to  gain  an  opening  to  your  career.  Do  you  remember  how 
we  parted ,  how  you  kissed  away  my  tears ,  and  how  they 
gushed  forth  again  —  how^  again  ,  and  again ,  you  said , 
'farewell I'  and  again  and  again  returned  ,  as  if  we  could 
never  parti  And  I  tt)ok  my  babe,  but  a  few  weeks  born  , 
from  her  cradle,  and  placed  her  in  thy  arms,  and  bade  thee 


CALDEROIV.  245 

see  that  she  had  aheady  learned  thy  smile  -,  and  were  these 
the  signs  of  falsehood?  Oh,  how  I  pined  for  the  sound  of 
thy  footstep  when  thou  wert  gone !  how  all  the  summer  had 
vanished  from  the  landscape ;  and  how,  turning  to  thy  child, 
I  fancied  I  again  heheld  thee !  The  day  after  thou  hadst  left 
me ,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  cottage ;  the  nurse 
opened  it ,  and  there  entered  your  former  rival ,  whom  my 
father  had  sought  to  force  upon  me ,  the  richest  of  the  de- 
scendants of  the  Moor,  Arraez  Ferrares.  Why  linger  on  this 
hatefulsubject?  He  had  tracked  us  to  ourhome,  he  had  learn- 
ed thy  absence ,  he  came  to  insult  me  with  his  vows.  By  the 
Blessed  Mother,  whom  thou  hast  taught  me  to  adore ,  by 
the  terror  and  pang  of  death ,  by  my  hopes  of  heaven ,  I  am 
innocent,  Roderigo ,  I  am  innocent!  Oh  I  how  couldst  thou 
be  so  deceived?   He  quitted  the  cottage  discornOted  and 
enraged  ^  again  he  sought  me  again  and  again  ;  and ,  when 
the  door  was  closed  upon  him ,  he  waylaid  my  steps.  Lone 
and  defenceless  as  we  were,  thy  wife  and  child,  with  but 
one  attendant,  I  feared  him  not-,  but  I  trembled  at  thy 
return ,  for  I  knew  that  thou  wert  a  Spaniard ,  a  Castilian , 
and  that  beneath  thy  calm  and  gentle  seeming  lurked  pride, 
and  jealousy,  and  revenge.  Thy  letter  came ,  the  only  letter 
since  thy  absence ,  the  last  letter  from  thee  I  may  ever  weep 
over,  and  lay  upon  my  heart.  Thy  relation  was  dead  ,  and 
his  wealth  enriched  a  nearer  heir.   Thou  wert  to  return. 
The  day  in  which  I  might  expect  thee  approached  —  it 
arrived.  During  the  last  week  I  had  seen  and  heard  no  more 
of  Ferrares.    I  trusted  that  he  had  ,  at  length  ,  discovered 
the  vanity  of  his  pursuit.  I  walked  into  the  valley,  thy  child 
in  my  arms,  to  meet  thee  ^  but  thou  didst  not  come.   The 
sun  set,  and  the  light  of  thine  eyes  replaced  not  the  declining 
day.  I  returned  home ,  and  watched  for  thee  all  night*,  but 
in  vain.    The  next  morning ,  again  ,  I  went  forth  into  the 
valley,  and  again ,  with  a  sick  heart  returned  to  my  desolate 
home.    It  was  then  noon.    As  I  approached  the  door  I 
perceived  Ferrares.  He  forced  his  entrance.  1  told  him  of 


#  • 


246  CALDERON. 

thy  expected  return ,  and  threatened  him  with  thy  resent- 
ment. He  left  me ;  and,  terrified  with  a  thousand  vague  fore- 
bodings ,  I  sat  down  to  weep.  The  nurse ,  Leonarda ,  was 
watching  by  the  cradle  of  our  child ,  in  the  inner  room.  I 
was  alone.  Suddenly  the  door  opened.  I  heard  thy  step  •,  I 
knew  it  ^  I  knew  its  music.  I  started  up.  Saints  of  heaven ! 
what  a  meeting  —  what  a  return!  Pale,  haggard,  thine 
hands  and  garments  dripping  blood,  thine  eyes  blazing  with 
insane  fire,  a  terrible  smile  of  mockery  on  thy  lip,  thou 
stoodst  before  me.  I  would  have  thrown  myself  on  thy 
breast  ^  thou  didst  cast  me  from  thee  ^  I  fell  on  my  knees , 
and  thy  blade  was  pointed  at  my  heart  —  the  heart  so  full  of 
thee !  '  He  is  dead  ,*  didst  thou  say,  in  a  hollow  voice  ^  '  he 
is  dead —  thy  paramour — take  thy  bed  beside  him  I '  I  know 
not  what  I  said ,  but  it  seemed  to  move  thee  ^  thy  hand 
trembled ,  and  the  point  of  thy  weapon  dropped.  It  was 
then  that,  hearing  thy  voice,  Leonarda  hastened  into  the 
room ,  and  bore  in  her  arms  thy  child.  '  See ,'  I  exclaimed , 
'  see  thy  daughter ;  see ,  she  stretches  her  hands  to  thee  — 
she  pleads  for  her  mother  I '  At  that  sight  thy  brow  became 
dark,  the  demon  seized  upon  thee  again.  'Mine! '  were 
thy  cruel  words —  they  ring  in  my  ear  still —  *  no !  she  was 
born  before  the  time  —  ha !  ha  !  —  thou  didst  betray  me 
from  the  first ! '  With  that  thou  didst  raise  thy  sword  \  but , 
even  then  ( ah ,  blessed  thought !  even  then )  remorse  and 
love  palsied  thy  hand ,  and  averted  thy  gaze ;  the  blow  was 
not  that  of  death.  I  fell,  senseless ,  to  the  ground  ,  and  , 
when  I  recovered  ,  thou  wert  gone.  Delirium  succeeded  •, 
and ,  when  once  more  my  senses  and  reason  returned  to 
me ,  I  found  by  my  side  a  holy  priest ,  and  from  him  ,  gra- 
dually, I  learned  all  that  till  then  was  dark.  Ferrares  had 
been  found  in  the  valley,  weltering  in  his  blood.  Borne  to 
a  neighbouring  monastery,  he  lingered  a  few  days ,  to  con- 
fess the  treachery  he  had  practised  on  thee ,  to  adopt ,  in 
his  last  hours ,  the  Christian  faith ,  and  to  attest  his  crime 
with  his  own  signature.   He  enjoined  the  monk ,  who  had 


•  • 


CALDEllOiV.  247 

converted  and  confessed  him,  to  place  this  proof  of  my 
innocence  in  my  hands.  Behold  it  enclosed  within.  If  this 
letter  ever  reach  thee ,  thou  wilt  learn  how  thy  wife  was 
true  to  thee  in  life,  and  has,  therefore,  the  right  to  bless 
thee  in  death." 

At  this,  passage  Calderon  dropped  the  letter,  and  was 
seized  with  a  kind  of  paralysis,  which  ,  for  some  moments , 
seemed  to  deprive  him  of  life  itself.  WJien  he  recovered, 
he  eagerly  grasped  a  scroll  that  was  enclosed  in  the  letter, 
but  which  ,  hitherto  ,  he  had  disregarded.  Even  then ,  so 
strong  were  his  emotions ,  that  sight  itself  was  obscured 
and  dimmed,  and  it  was  long  before  he  could  read  the 
characters,  which  were  already  discoloured  by  time. 

*  "to   INEZ, 

"  I  have  but  a  few  hours  to  live ,— let  me  spend  them  in 
atonement  and  in  prayer,  less  for  myself  than  thee.  Thou 
knowest  not  how  madly  I  adored  thee-,   and  how  thy 
hatred  or  indifference  stung  every  passion  into  torture. 
Let  this  pass.  When  I  saw  thee  again— the  forsaker  of  thy 
faith— poor,  obscure,  and  doomed  to  a  peasant's  lot— daring 
hopes  shaped  themselves  into  fierce  resolves.  Finding  that 
thou  wert  inexorable,  I  turned  my  arts  upon  thy  husband. 
I  knew  his  poverty  and  his  ambition  :  we  Moors  have  had 
ample  knowledge  of  the  avarice  of  the  Christians  I  I  bade 
one  whom  I  could  trust  seek  him  out  at  Madrid.  Wealth 
—lavish  wealth— wealth ,  that  could  open  to  a  Spaniard 
all  the  gates  of  power,  was  offered  to  him  if  he  would  re- 
nounce thee  for  ever.  Nay,  in  order  to  crush  out  all  love 
from  his  breast,  it  was  told  him  that  mine  was  the  prior 
right— that  thou  hadst  yielded  to  my  suit  ere  thou  didst  tly 
with  him— that  thou  didst  use  his  love  as  an  escape  from 
thine  own  dishonour— that  thy  very  child  owned  another 
father.   I  had  learned ,  and  I  availed  myself  of  the  know- 
ledge ,  that  it  was  born  before  its  time.  We  had  miscalcu- 
lated the  effect  of  this  representation ,  backed  and  supported 


248  CALDEROrs. 

by  forged  letters  :  instead  of  abandoning  thee ,  he  thought 
only  of  revenge  for  his  shame.  As  I  left  thy  house,  the 
last  time  I  gazed  upon  thy  indignant  eyes,  I  found  the 
avenger  on  my  path  I  He  had  seen  me  quit  thy  roof— he 
needed  no  other  confirmation  of  the  tale.  I  fell  into  the  pit 
which  I  had  digged  for  thee.  Conscience  unnerved  my  hand 
and  blunted  my  sword  :  our  blades  scarcely  crossed  before 
his  weapon  stretched  me  on  the  ground.  They  tell  me  he 
has  fled  from  the  anger  of  the  law  :  let  him  return  without 
a  fear.  Solemnly,  and  from  the  bed  of  death,  and  in  the 
sight  Qf  the  last  tribunal,  I  proclaim  to  justice  and  the 
world  that  we  fought  fairly,  and  I  perish  justly.  I  have 
adopted  thy  frdth  ,  though  I  cannot  comprehend  its  mys- 
teries. It  is  enough  that  it  holds  out  to  ijie  the  only  hope 
that  we  shall  meet  again.  I  direct  these  lines  to  be  trans- 
mitted to  thee— an  eternal  proof  of  thy  innocence  and  my 
guilt.  Ah,  canst  thou  forgive  me?  I  knew  no  sin  till  I 
knew  thee. 

"  Arraez  Ferrares." 

Calderon  paused  ere  he  turned  to  the  concluding  lines  of 
his  wife's  letter  ^  and ,  though  he  remained  motionless  and 
speechless ,  never  were  agony  and  despair  stamped  more 
terribly  on  the  face  of  man. 

CONCLUSION   OF   THE    LETTER   OF   INEZ. 

"  And  what  avails  to  me  this  testimony  of  my  faith? 
Thou  art  fled  ^  they  cannot  track  thy  footsteps  ^  I  shall  see 
thee  no  more  on  earth.  I  am  dying  fast,  but  not  of  the 
wound  I  took  from  thee  ^  let  not  that  thought  darken  thy 
soul ,  my  husband  I  ?so,  that  wound  is  healed.  Thought  is 
sharper  than  the  sword. — 1  have  pined  aw^ay  for  the  loss  of 
thee ,  and  thy  love  I  Can  the  shadow  live  without  the  sun? 
And  wilt  thou  never  place  thy  hands  on  my  daughter's 
head ,  and  bless  her  for  her  mother's  sake?  Ah ,  yes — yes ! 
The  saints  that  watch  over  our  human  destinies  will  one 


CALDERON.  249 

day  cast  her  in  thy  way  ^  and  the  same  hour  that  gives  thee 
a  daughter  shall  redeem  and  hallow  the  memory  of  a 
wife....  Leonarda  has  vowed  to  be  a  mother  to  our  child  ^ 
to  tend  her,  work  for  her,  rear  her,  though  in  poverty,  to 
virtue.  1  consign  these  letters  to  Leonarda's  charge  ,  with 
thy  picture — never  to  be  removed  from  my  breast  till  the 
heart  within  has  ceased  to  beat.  >"ot  till  Reatriz  (I  have  so 
baptised  her — it  w^as  thy  mother's  name  I)  has  attained  to 
the  age  when  reason  can  wrestle  with  the  knowledge  of 
sorrow,  shall  her  years  be  shadowed  with  the  knowledge 
of  our  fate.  Leonarda  has  persuaded  me  that  Beatriz  shall 
not  take  thy  name  of  Xunez.  Our  tale  has  excited  horror 
— for  it  is  not  understood— and  thou  art  called  the  mur- 
derer of  thy  wife  ^  and  the  story  of  our  misfortunes  would 
tling  to  our  daughter's  life,  and  reach  her  ears,  and, 
perhaps ,  mar  her  fate.  But  I  know  that  thou  wilt  discover 
her  not  the  less  ,  for  Mature  has  a  providence  of  its  own. 
When  at  last  you  meet  her,  protect,  guard,  love  her — 
sacred  to  you  as  she  is ,  and  shall  be— the  pure  but  mourn- 
ful legacy  of  love  and  death.  I  have  done  :  I  die  blessing 
thee  I 

"  Inez." 

Scarce  had  he  finished  these  last  words,  ere  the  clock 
struck  :  it  was  the  hour  in  which  the  prince  was  to  arrive. 
The  thought  restored  Calderon  to  the  sense  of  the  present 
time— the  approaching  peril.  All  the  cold  calculations  he 
had  formed  for  the  stranger-novice ,  vanished  now.  He 
kissed  the  letter  passionately,  placed  it  in  his  breast,  and 
hurried  into  the  chamber  where  he  had  left  his  child.  Our 
tale  returns  to  Fonseca. 


250  CALDERON. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   COUNTERPLOT. 

Calderon  had  not  long  left  the  young  soldier,  before  the 
governor  of  the  prison  entered ,  to  pay  his  respects  to  a 
captive  of  such  high  birth  and  military  reputation. 

Fonseca  ,  always  blunt  and  impatient  of  mood ,  was  not 
in  a  humour  to  receive  and  return  compliments-,  but  the 
governor  had  scarcely  seated  himself,  ere  he  struck  a  chord 
in  the  conversation  which  immediately  arrested  the  atten- 
tion and  engaged  the  interest  of  the  prisoner. 

"  Do  not  fear,  sir,"  said  he ,  "  that  you  will  be  long  de- 
tained ;  the  power  of  your  enemy  is  great ,  but  it  will  not 
be  of  duration.  The  storm  is  already  gathering  round  him  : 
he  must  be  more  than  man  ,  if  he  escape  the  thunderbolt." 

"  Do  you  speak  to  me  thus  of  my  own  kinsman,  the 
Duke  deLerma?" 

"  No ,  Don  Martin ,  pardon  me.  I  spake  of  the  Marquis 
de  Siete  Iglesias.  Are  you  so  great  a  stranger  to  Madrid 
and  to  the  court,  as  to  suppose  that  the  Duke -de  Lerma 
ever  signs  ;a  paper  but  at  the  instance  of  Don  Roderigo  ? 
Nay,  that  he  ever  looks  over  the  paper  to  which  he  sets  his 
hand?  Depend  upon  it ,  you  are  here  to  gratify  the  avarice 
or  revenge  of  the  Scourge  of  Spain." 

"  Impossible  I  "  cried  Fonseca.  "  Don  Roderigo  is  my 
friend  —  my  intercessor.  He  overwhelms  me  with  his 
kindness  I " 

"Then  you  are  indeed  lost,"  said  the  governor,  in 
accents  of  compassion  5  "  the  tiger  always  caresses  his  prey 
before  he  devours  it.  What  have  you  done  to  provoke  his 
kindness?" 

"  Senor ,"  said  Fonseca ,  suspiciously ,  "  you  speak  with 


CALDERON.  251 

a  strange  want  of  caution  to  a  stranger  ,  and  against  a  man 
whose  power  you  confess." 

"  Because  I  am  safe  from  his  revenge  •,  because  the  in- 
quisition have  already  fixed  their  fatal  eyes  upon  him  i  be- 
cause by  that  inquisition  1  am  not  unknown  nor  unpro- 
tected •,  because  I  see ,  with  joy  and  triumph ,  the  hour 
approaching  that  must  render  up  to  justice  the  pander  of 
the  prince,  the  betrayer  of  the  king,  the  robber  of  the 
people ;  because  I  have  an  interest  in  thee ,  Don  Martin , 
of  which  thou  wilt  be  aware  when  thou  hast  learned  my 
name.  I  am  Juan  de  la  Nuza ,  the  father  of  the  young 
officer  whose  life  you  saved  in  the  assault  of  the  Mo- 
riscos,  in  Valentia,  and  I  owe  you  an  everlasting  gra- 
titude." 

There  was  something  in  the  frank  and  hearty  tone  of  the 
governor  which  at  once  won  Fonseca's  confidence.  He 
became  agitated  and  distracted  with  suspicions  of  his  former 
tutor  and  present  patron. 

'MVhat,  I  ask,  hast  thou  done  to  attract  his  notice? 
Calderon  is  not  capricious  in  cruelty.  Art  thou  rich ,  and 
does  he  hope  that  thou  wilt  purchase  freedom  with  live 
thousand  pistoles?  >~o  I  Hast  thou,  crossed  the  path  of  his 
ambition  ?  Hast  thou  been  seen  with  Uzeda  ?  or  art  thou  in 
favour  with  the  prince?  Xo  ,  again!  Then,  hast  thou 
some  wife,  some  sister  ,  some  mistress  of  rare  accomplish- 
ment and  beauty ,  with  whom  Calderon  would  gorge  the 
fancy  and  retain  the  esteem  of  the  profligate  infant?  Ah , 
thou  changest  colour  I  " 

"  By  heaven  I  you  madden  me  with  these  devilish  sur- 
mises I    Speak  plainly." 

"  I  see  thou  knowest  not  Calderon ,"  said  the  governor, 
with  a  bitter  smile.    "  I  do  — for  my  niece  was  beautiful , 

and  the  prince  wooed  her .    But  enough  of  that :  at  his 

scaffold,  or  at  the  rack,  I  shall  be  avenged  on  Roderigo 
Calderon.  You  said  the  Duke  of  Lerma  was  your  kins- 
man :  you  are  ,  then  ,  equally  related  to  his  son  ,  the  Duke 


252  CALDERON. 

d'Uzeda.  Apply  not  to  Lerma  ^  he  is  the  tool  of  Calderoii. 
Apply  yourself  to  Uzeda  ^  he  is  Calderon's  mortal  foe. 
While  Calderon  gains  ground  with  the  prince,  Uzeda  ad- 
vances with  the  king.  Uzeda ,  by  a  word ,  can  procure  thy 
release.  The  duke  knows  and  trusts  me.  Shall  I  be  com- 
missioned to  acquaint  him  with  thy  arrest ,  and  entreat  his 
intercession  with  Philip  ? " 

*'  You  give  me  new  life  I  But  not  an  hour  is  to  be  lost  •, 
this  night  —  this  day  —  oh  ,  Mother  of  mercy !  what  image 
have  you  conjured  up!  Fly  to  Uzeda  ,  if  you  would  save 
my  very  reason.  I  myself  have  scarcely  seen  him  since  my 
boyhood  —  Lerma  forbade  me  to  seek  his  friendship.  But 
I  am  of  his  race — his  blood." 

"  Be  cheered,  —  I  shall  see  the  duke  to-day.  I  have 
business  witli  him  where  you  wot  not.  We  are  bringing 
strange  events  to  a  crisis.    Hope  the  best." 

With  this  the  governor  took  his  leave. 

At  the  dusk  of  evening ,  Don  Juan  de  la  Nuza ,  wrap- 
ped in  a  dark  mantle,  stood  before  a  small  door,  deep- 
set  in  a  massive  and  gloomy  w^all ,  that  stretched  along 
one  side  of  a  shunned  and  deserted  street.  Without  sign 
of  living  hand,  the  door  opened  at  his  knock,  and  the 
governor  entered  a  long  and  narrow  passage  that  con- 
ducted to  chambers  more  associated  with  images  of 
awe  than  any  in  his  own  prison.  Here  he  suddenly  en- 
countered the  Jesuit ,  Fray  Louis  de  Aliaga  ,  confessor 
to  the  king. 

"  How  fares  the  grand  inquisitor?"  asked  De  la 
jNuza. 

"  He  has  just  breathed  his  last,"  answered  the  Jesuit. 
"  His  illness— so  sudden— defied  all  aid.  Sandoval  y  Roxas 
is  with  tlie'saints." 

The  governor ,  who  was ,  as  the  reader  may  suppose , 
one  of  the  sacred  body,  crossed  himself,  and  answered 
—  "  With  whom  will  rest  the  appointment  of  the  suc- 
cessor? Who  will  be  first  to  gain  the  ear  of  the  king?" 


CALDERON.  253 

''  I  know  not,"  replied  the  Jesuit;  '^  but  I  am,  this 
instant,  summoned  to  Uzeda.    Pardon  my  haste." 

So  saying ,  Aliaga  glided  away. 

"  With  Sandoval  y  Roxas ,"  muttered  Don  Juan,  dies 
the  last  protector  of  Calderon  and  Lerma  :  unless,  in- 
deed, the  wily  marquis  can  persuade  the  king  to  make 
Aliaga  ,  his  friend ,  the  late  cardinal's  successor.  But  Aliaga 
seeks  Uzeda  — Uzeda,  his  foe  and  rival.  What  can  this 
portend? " 

Thus  soliloquising,  the  governor  silently  continued  his 
way  till  he  came  to  a  door  by  which  stood  two  men, 
masked ,  who  saluted  him  with  a  mute  inclination  of  the 
head.  The  door  opened  and  again  closed,  as  the  gover- 
nor entered. 

Meanwhile,  the  confessor  had  gained  the  palace  of  the 
Duke  d'Uzeda.  Uzeda  was  not  alone  :  with  him  was  a 
man  whose  sallow  complexion,  ill-favoured  features,  and 
simple  dress ,  strangely  contrasted  the  showy  person  and 
sumptuous  habiliments  of  the  duke.  But  the  instant  this 
personage  opened  his  lips ,  the  comparison  was  no  longer 
to  his  prejudice.  Something  in  the  sparkle  of  his  deep- 
set  eye  —  in  the  singular  enchantment  of  his  smile  — 
and ,  above  all ,  in  the  tone  of  a  very  musical  and  earn- 
est voice,  chained  attention  at  once  to  his  words.  And, 
whatever  those  words,  there  was  about  the  man  ,  and  his 
mode  of  thought  and  expression,  the  stamp  of  a  mind  at 
once  crafty  and  commanding.  This  personage  was  Caspar 
de  Guzman ,  then  but  a  gentleman  of  the  Prince's  Chamber 
(which  post  he  owed  to  Calderon,  whose  creature  he  was 
supposed  to  be  ) ,  afterwards  so  celebrated  in  the  his- 
tory of  PhiUp  IV.  as  Count  of  OUvarez ,  and  prime  minister 
of  Spain. 

The  conversation  between  Guzman  and  Uzeda  ,  just  be- 
fore the  Jesuit  entered  ,  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
.     "  You  see,"  said  Uzeda,  "  that  if  we  desire  to  crush 
Calderon,  it  is  on  the  inquisition  that  we  mu.st  depend. 


254  CA.LDERON. 

Now  is  the  time  to  elect ,  in  the  successor  of  Sandoval  y 
Roxas ,  one  pledged  to  the  favourite's  ruin.  The  reason  I 
choose 'Aliaga  is  this  ,  —  Calderon  will  never  suspect  his 
friendship,  and  will  not,  therefore,  thwart  us  with  the  king. 
The  Jesuit ,  who  w^ould  sell  all  Christendom  for  the  sake  of 
advancement  to  his  order  or  himself,  will  gladly  sell  Cal- 
deron to  obtain  the  chair  of  the  inquisition." 

''  I  believe  it,"  replied  Guzman.  "  I  approve  your  choice ; 
and  you  may  rely  on  me  to  destroy  Calderon  with  the 
prince.  I  have  found  out  the  way  to  rule  Philip  :  it  is  by 
never  giving  him  a  right  to  despise  his  favourites  —  it  is , 
to  flatter  his  vanity,  but  not  to  share  his  vices.  Trust  me , 
you  alone —  if  you  follow  my  suggestions  — can  be  minister 
to  the  Fourth  Philip." 

Here  a  page  entered  to  announce  Don  Fray  Louis  de 
Ahaga. 

Uzeda  advanced  to  the  door ,  and  received  the  holy  man 
with  profound  respect. 

"  Be  seated ,  father ,  and  let  me  at  once  to  business  5  for 
time  presses ,  and  all  must  be  despatched  to-night.  Be- 
fore interest  is  made  by  others  with  the  king,  we  must 
be  prompt  in  gaining  the  appointment  of  Sandoval's  suc- 
cessor."'' 

''  Report  says  that  the  cardinal  duke,  your  father,  him- 
self desires  the  vacant  chair  of  the  inquisition.' 

"  My  poor  father  I  he  is  old  —  his  sun  is  set.  No,  Aliaga  ^ 
I  have  thought  of  one  fitter  for  that  high  and  stern  oflice  : 
in  a  word,  that  appointment  rests  with  yourself.  I  can 
make  you  grand  inquisitor  of  Spain  —  I." 

"  Mel"  said  the  Jesuit,  and  he  turned  aside  his  face. 
"You  jest  with  me,  noble  son." 

"1  am  serious  — hear  me.  We  have  been  foes  and 
rivals  :  why  should  not  our  path  be  the  same?  Calderon 
has  deprived  you  of  friends  more  powerful  than  himself. 
His  hour  is  come.  The  Duke  de  Lerma's  downfal  can- 
not be  avoided  j  if  it  could ,  I ,  his  son  ,  would  not ,   as 


CALDERO>.  255 

you  may  suppose,  withhold  my  hand.  But  business  fatigues 
l^im  —  he  is  old  —  the  affairs  of  Spain  are  in  a  deplorable 
condition —  they  need  younger  and  abler  hands.  My  father 
will  not  repine  at  a  retirement  suited  to  his  years ,  and 
which  shall  be  made  honourable  to  his  gray  hairs.  But 
some  victim  must  glut  the  rage  of  the  people  :  that  victim 
must  be  the  upstart  Calderon  •,  the  means  of  his  punish- 
ment, the  inquisition.  >'ow,  you  understand  me.  On 
one  condition,  you  shall  be  the  successor  to  Sandoval. 
Know  that  I  do  not  promise  without  the  power  to  fulfil. 
The  instant  I  learned  that  the  late  cardinal's  death  was 
certain,  I  repaired  to  the  king.  I  have  the  promise  of 
the  appointment;  and  this  night  your  name  shall ,  if  you 
accept  the  condition,  and  Calderon  does  not,  in  the  in- 
terim ,  see  the  king ,  and  prevent  the  nomination ,  receive 
the  royal  sanction." 

"  Our  excellent  Aliaga  cannot  hesitate,'"  said  Don  Gas- 
par  de  Guzman.  '•  The  order  of  Loyola  rests  upon  shoul- 
ders that  can  well  support  the  load." 

Before  that  trio  separated  ,  the  compact  was  completed. 
Aliaga  practised  against  his  friend  the  lesson  he  had  preached 
to  him  —that  the  end  sanctifies  every  means.  Scarce  had 
Aliaga  departed  ere  Juan  de  la  >"uza  entered;  for  Uzeda, 
who  sought  to  make  the  inquisition  his  chief  instrument  of 
power,  courted  the  friendship  of  all  its  officers.  He  readily 
promised  to  obtain  the  release  of  Fonseca-,  and,  in  effect,  it 
was  but  little  after  midnight  when  an  order  arrived  at  the 
prison  for  the  release  of  Don  Martin  Fonseca ,  accompa- 
nied by  a  note  from  the  duke  to  the  prisoner,  full  of  affec- 
tionate professions ,  and  requesting  to  see  him  the  next 
morning. 

Late  as  the  hour  was ,  and  in  spite  of  the  expostulations 
of  the  governor,  who  wished  him  J.0  remain  the  night  within 
the  prison ,  in  the  hope  to  extract  from  him  his  secret , 
Fonseca  no  sooner  received  the  order  than  he  claimed  and 
obtained  his  hberation. 


256  CALDERON. 

CHAPTER  X. 

■VVE   REAP    "SVHAT    ^'^'E   SOW. 

With  emotions  of  joy  and  triumph,  such  as  had  never  yet 
agitated  his  reckless  and  abandoned  youth ,  the  Infant  of 
Spain  bent  his  way  towards  the  lonely  house  on  the  road 
to  Fuencarral.  He  descended  from  his  carriage  when  about 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  abode ,  and  proceeded  on  foot  to 
the  appointed  place. 

The  Jew  opened  the  door  to  the  prince  with  a  hideous 
grin  on  his  hollow  cheek  •,  and  Philip  hastened  up  the  stairs, 
and  ,  entering  the  chamber  we  have  before  described  ,  be- 
held ,  to  his  inconceivable  consternation  and  dismay,  the 
form  of  Beatriz  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Calderon ,  her  head 
leaning  on  his  bosom  •,  while  his  voice ,  half  choked  with 
passionate  sobs ,  called  upon  her  in  the  most  endearing 
terms. 

For  a  moment  the  prince  stood  spell-bound  and  speech- 
less ,  at  the  threshold  ;  then  ,  striking  the  hilt  of  his  sword 
fiercely,  he  exclaimed,  "  Traitor  I  is  it  thus  that  thou  hast 
kept  thy  promise?  Dost  thou  not  tremble  at  my  ven- 
geance?" 

"Peace:  peace  I"  said  Calderon,  in  an  imperious,  but 
sepulchral  tone ,  and  waving  one  hand  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience  and  rebuke ,  while  with  the  other  he  removed 
the  long  clustering  hair  that  fell  over  the  pale  face  of  the 
still  insensible  novice.  "  Peace  I  Prince  of  Spain  ^  thy  voice 
scares  back  the  struggling  life  —  peace  I  Look  up  ,  image 
and  relic  of  the  lost  —  the  murdered  —  the  martyr !  Hush ! 
do  you  hear  her  breathe  „or  is  she  with  her  mother  in  that 
heaven  which  is  closed  on  me  ?  Live !  hve  I  my  daughter  — 
my  child  — live  I.  For  thy  hfe  in  the  world  hereafter  will 
not  be  mine  I" 


CALDERON.  257 

"What  means  this?''  said  the  prince ,  falteringly.  "What 
delusion  do  thy  \Yiles  practise  upon  me?" 

Calderon  made  no  ansNver ;  and  at  that  instant  Beatriz 
sighed  heavily,  and  her  eyes  opened. 

'•My  child  I  my  child  I  —  thou  art  mine  I  Speak  —  let 
me  hear  thy  voice  —  again  let  it  call  jiie  '  father  I '  " 

And  Calderon  dropped  on  his  knees,  and,  clasping  his 
hands  fervently,  locked  up  imploringly  in  her  face.  The 
novice  ,  now  slowly  returning  to  life  and  consciousness , 
strove  to  speak  :  her  voice  failed  her,  but  her  lips  smiled 
upon  Calderon ,  and  her  arms  fell  feebly  but  endearingly 
round  his  neck. 

"  Bless  thee !  bless  thee !  "  exclaimed  Calderon.  "  Bless 
thee  in  thy  sweet  mother's  name  I" 

While  he  spoke ,  the  eyes  of  Beatriz  caught  the  form  of 
.  Philip  ,  who  stood  by,  leaning  on  his  sword  •,  his  face  work- 
ing with  various  passions ,  and  his  Hp  curling  with  stern 
and  intense  disdain.  Accustomed  to  know  human  life  but 
in  its  worst  shapes ,  and  Calderon  only  by  his  vices  and  his 
arts,  the  voice  of  nature  uttered  no  language  intelligible  to 
the  prince.  He  regarded  the  whole  as  some  well  got-up 
device  —  some  trick  of  the  stage  ^  and  waited ,  with  impa- 
tience and  scorn ,  the  denoiiment  of  the  imposture. 

At  the  sight  of  that  mocking  face ,  Beatriz  shuddered , 
and  fell  back ;  but  her  very  alarm  revived  her,  and ,  start- 
ing to  her  feet,  she  exclaimed  ,  "  Save  me  from  that  bad 
man  —  save  me  I   My  father,  I  am  safe  with  thee !  " 

"Safe  I"  echoed  Calderon ,  —  "  ay,  safe  against  the 
world.  But  not,"  he  added ,  looking  round  ,  and  in  a  low 
and  muttered  tone,  "  not  in  this  foul  abode-,  its  very  air 
pollutes  thee.  Let  us  hence :  come — come — my  daughter  I " 
and,  winding  his  arm  round  her  waist,  he  hurried  her 
tow^ards  the  door. 

"  Back,  traitor  I "  cried  Phihp ,  placing  himself  full  in  the 
path  of  the  distracted  and  half  delirious  father.  "Back! 
thinkest  thou  thai  J ,  thy  master  and  thy  prince  ,  am  to  be 

17 


268  CALDERON. 

thus  duped ,  and  thus  insulted?  Not  for  thine  own  pleasures 
hast  thou  snatched  her,  whom  I  have  honoured  with  my 
love ,  from  the  sanctuary  of  the  church.  Go ,  if  thou  wilt ; 
but  Beatriz  remains.  This  roof  is  sacred  to  my  will.  Back  I 
or  thy  next  step  is  on  the  point  of  my  sword." 

"  Menace  not ,  speak  not ,  Philip— I  am  desperate.  I  am 
beside  myself —  I  cannot  parley  with  thee.  Away!  by  thy 
hopes  of  heaven ,  away !  I  am  no  longer  thy  minion  —  thy 
tool.  I  am  a  father,  and  the.  protector  of  my  child." 

*'  Brave  device  —  notable  tale ! "  cried  Philip ,  scornfully, 
and  placing  his  back  against  the  door.  "  The  little  actress 
plays  her  part  well ,  it  must  be  owned ,  —  it  is  her  trade ; 
but  thou  art  a  bungler,  my  gentle  Calderon." 

For  a  moment  the  courtier  stood,  not  irresolute,  but 
overcome  with  the  passions  that  shook  to  their  centre  a 
nature ,  the  stormy  and  stern  elements  of  which  the  habit, 
of  years  had  rather  mastered  than  quelled.  At  last,  with  a 
fierce  cry,  he  suddenly  grasped  the  prince  by  the  collar  of 
his  vest  ^  and ,  ere  he  could  avail  himself  of  his  weapon , 
swung  him  aside  with  such  violence  that  he  lost  his  balance 
and  (his  foot  shpping  on  the  polished  floor)  fell  to  the 
ground.  Calderon  then  opened  the  door,  lifted  Beatriz  in 
both  his  arms ,  and  fled  precipitately  down  the  stairs.  He 
could  no  longer  trust  to  chance  and  delay,  against  the  dan- 
gers of  that  abode. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HOWSOEVER   THE  RIVERS    WIND,    THE   OCEAN   RECEIVE*  THEM    ALL. 

Meanwhile  Fonseca  had  reached  the  Convent^  and 
found  the  porter  gone-,  and,  with  a  mind  convulsed  with 
apprehension  and  doubt ,  had  flown  on  the  wings  of  love 
and  fear  to  the  house  indicated  by  Calderon.  The  grim 


CALDERON.  259 

and  solitary  mansion  came  just  in  sight  — the  moon  stream- 
ing sadly  over  its  gray  and  antique  walls  —  when  he  heard 
his  name  pronounced  ^  and  the  convent  porter  emerged  from 
the  shadow  of  a  wall ,  heside  which  he  had  ensconced 
himself. 

"  Don  Martin  I  it  is  thou ,  indeed  I  blessed  be  the  saints! 
1  began  to  fear — nay,  I  fear  now,  that  we  were  deceived." 

"Speak,  man,  but  stop  me  not!  Speak!  what  horrors 
hast  thou  to  utter?" 

"  I  knew  the  cavalier  whom  thou  didst  send  in  thy  place  I 
Who  knows  not  Roderigo  Calderon?  I  trembled  when  I 
saw  him  lift  the  novice  into  the  carriage  •,  but  I  thought  I 
should ,  as  agreed ,  be  companion  in  the  flight.  Not  so. 
Don  Roderigo  briefly  told  me  to  hid^  vyhere  I  could ,  this 
night  •,  and  that  to-morrow  he  would  arrange  preparations 
for  my  flight  from  Madrid.  My  mind  misgave  me ,  for 
Calderon's  name  is  blackened  by  many  curses.  I  resolved 
to  follow^  the  carriage.  I  did  so  ^  but  my  breath  and  speed 
nearly  failed ,  when ,  fortunately,  the  carriage  was  stopped 
and  entangled  by  a  crowd  in  the  street.  iVo  lackeys  were 
behind ;  I  mounted  the  footboard  unobserved ,  and  de- 
scended and  hid  myself  when  the  carriage  stopped.  I  knew 
not  the  house ,  but  I  knew  the  neighbourhood  —  a  brother 
of  mine  lives  at  hand.  I  sought  my  relative  for  a  night's 
shelter.  I  learned  that  dark  stories  had  given  to  that  house 
an  evil  name.  It  w^as  one  of  those  which  the  Prince  of 
Spain  had  consecrated  to  the  pursuits  which  have  disho- 
noured so  many  families  in  Madrid.  I  resolved  again  to  go 
forth  and  watch.  Scarce  had  I  reached  this  very  spot, 
wlien  I  saw  a  carriage  approach  rapidly.  1  secreted  myself 
behind  a  buttress,  and  saw  the  carriage  halt;  and  a  man 
descended  ,  and  walked  to  the  house.  See  there  —  there  , 
by  yon  crossing ,  the  carriage  still  waits.  The  man  was 
wrapped  in  a  mantle.  I  know  not  whom  he  may  be-, 
but " 

"Heaven!"  cried  Fonseca  ,  as  they  were  now  close  be- 


!260  CALDERON. 

fore  the  door  of  the  house  at  which  Calderon*s  carriage 
still  stood  •,  "  I  hear  a  noise,  a  shriek ,  within." 

Scarce  had  he  spoken  when  the  door  opened.  Voices 
were  heard  in  loud  altercation  ^  presently  the  form  of  the 
Jew  was  thrown  on  the  pavement,  and,  dashing  aside 
another  man,  who  seemed  striving  to  detain  him,  Calderon 
appeared  ,  —  his  drawn  sword  in  his  right  hand ,  his  left 
arm  clasped  around  Beatriz. 

Fonseca  darted  forward. 

**  My  lover !  my  betrothed  I "  exclaimed  the  voice  of  the 
novice  :  "  thou  art  come  to  save  us  —  to  save  thy  Beatriz !  " 

"Yes^  and  to  chastise  the  betrayer!"  exclaimed  Fon- 
seca, in  a  voice  of  thunder.  "Leave  thy  victim,  villain! 
Defend  thyself!" 

He  made  a  desperate  lounge  at  Calderon  while  he  spoke. 
The  marquis  feebly  parried  the  stroke. 

''Hold!"  he  cried.  "Not  on  me!" 

"  No — no ! "  exclaimed  Beatriz ,  throwing  herself  on  her 
father's  breast.  The  words  came  too  late.  Blinded  and  deaf- 
ened with  rage  ,  Fonseca  had  again  ,  with  more  sure  and 
deadly  aim  ,  directed  his  weapon  against  his  supposed  foe. 
The  blade  struck  home,. but  not  to  the  heart  of  Calderon. 
It  was  Beatriz ,  bathed  in  her  blood  ,  who  fell  at  the  feet  of 
her  frenzied  lover. 

"  Daughter  and  mother  both ! "  muttered  Calderon ;  and 
he  fell ,  as  if  the  steel  had  pierced  his  own  heart ,  beside 
his  child. 

"Wretch !  what  hast  thou  done?"  uttered  a  voice  strange 
to  the  ear  of  Fonseca  •,  a  voice  half  stifled  with  horror  and, 
perhaps,  remorse.  The  Prince  of  Spain  stood  on  the  spot  •, 
and  his  feet  were  dabbled  in  the  blood  of  the  virgin  martyr. 
The  moonlight  alone  lighted  that  spectacle  of  crime  and 
death  ^  and  the  faces  of  all  seemed  ghastly  beneath  its  beams. 
Beatriz  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  lover,  with  an  expression 
of  celestial  compassion  and  divine  forgiveness  \  then  ,  sink- 
ing upon  Calderon's  breast ,  she  muttered ,  — 


CALDEUO.  261 

'*  P#rdon  him  I  pardon  him ,  father  I  I  shall  tell  my  mo- 
ther that  thou  hast  blessed  me  I " 


It  was  not  for  several  days  after  that  night  of  terror  that 
Calderon  was  heard  of  at  the  court.  His  absence  was  unac- 
countable ^  for,  though  the  flight  of  the  novice  was,  of 
course  ,  known ,  her  fate  was  not  suspected  •,  and  her  rank 
had  been  too  insignilicant  to  create  much  interest  in  her 
escape,  or  much  vigilance  in  pursuit.  But  of  that  absence 
the  courtier's  enemies  well  availed  themselves.  The  plans, 
of  the  cabal  were  ripe  ^  and  the  aid  of  the  inquisition  ,  by 
the  appointment  of  Aliaga  ,  was  added  to  the  machinations 
of  Uzeda's  partisans.  The  king  was  deeply  incensed  at  the 
mysterious  absence  of  Calderon ,  for  which  a  thousand  in- 
genious conjectures  were  invented.  The  Duke  of  Lerma , 
infirm  and  enfeebled  by  years,  was  unable  to  confront  his 
foes.  With  imbecile  despair  he  called  on  the  name  of  Cal- 
deron ,  and,  when  no  trace  of  that  powerful  ally  could  be 
discovered ,  he  forbore  even  to  seek  an  interview  with  the 
king.  Suddenly  the  storm  broke.   One  evening  Lerma  re- 
ceived the  royal  order  to  surrender  his  posts ,  and  to  quit 
the  court  by  day-break.  It  was  in  this  very  hour  that  the 
door  of  Lerma's  chamber  opened  ,  and  Roderigo  Calderon 
stood  before  him.  But ,  how  changed  —  how  blasted  from 
his  former  self  I  His  eyes  were  sunk  deep  in  their  sockets  , 
and  their  fire  was  quenched^  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  his 
frame  bent ,  and ,  when  he  spoke ,  his  voice  was  as  that  of 
one"  calling  from  the  tomb. 

"  Behold  me ,  Duke  de  Lerma,  I  am  returned  at  last ! " 
"  Returned!  —  blessings  on  thee  I  Where  hast  thou 
been?  Why  didst  thou  desert  me?  —  no  matter,  thou  art 
returned  I  Fly  to  the  king  —  tell  him  I  am  not  old  !  I  ck) 
not  want  repose.  Defeat  the  villany  of  my  unnatural  son  I 
They  would  banish  me,  Calderon;  banish  me  in  the  very 


262  C4LDERON. 

prime  of  my  years  I  My  son  says  1  am  old  —  old !  hwf.  ha  I 
Fly  to  the  prince  •,  he  too  has  immured  himself  in  his  apart- 
ment.  He  would  not  see  me  ^  he  will  see  thee  I " 

"  Ay  —  the  prince!  we  have  cause  to  love  each  other!" 

"  Ye  have  ,  indeed  !  Hasten ,  Calderon ;  not  a  moment 
is  to  be  lost !  Banished !  Calderon  ,  shall  I  be  banished  ? " 
And  the  old  man ,  bursting  into  tears ,  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Calderon  ,  and  clasped  his  knees.  —  "Go,  go  ,  I  implore 
thee!  Save  me-,  I  loved  thee,  Calderon,  1  always  loved 
thee.  Shall  our  foes  triumph  ?  Shall  the  horn  of  the  wicked 
be  exalted?" 

For  a  moment  (so  great  is  the  mechanical  power  of 
habit)  there  returned  to  Calderon  something  of  his  wonted 
energy  and  spirit :  a  light  broke  from  his  sunken  eyes  ;  he 
drew  himself  up  to  the  full  of  his  stately  height :  "I  thought 
I  had  done  with  courts  and  with  life,"  said  he-,  "but  I 
will  make  one  more  effort ;  1  will  not  forsake  you  in  your 
hour  of  need.  Yes ,  Uzeda  shall  be  baffled  ^  I  will  seek  the 
king.  Fear  not,  my  lord,  fear  not;  the  charm  of  my 
power  is  not  yet  broken." 

So  saying ,  Calderon  raised  the  cardinal  from  the  ground , 
and  extricating  himself  from  the  old  man's  grasp  ,  strode  , 
with  his  customary  air  of  majestic  self-reliance ,  to  the 
door.  Just  ere  he  reached  it ,  three  low ,  but  regular, 
knocks  sounded  on  the  panel  :  the  door  opened ,  and  the 
space  without  was  filled  with  the  dark  forms  of  the  officers 
of  the  inquisition. 

"  Stand,"  said  a  deep  voice  5  "stand,  Roderigo  Calderon, 
Marquis  de  Siete  Iglesias ;  in  the  name  of  the  most  holy  in- 
quisition ,  we  arrest  thee  ! " 

"  Aliaga ! "  muttered  Calderon,  falling  back 

"Peace!"  interrupted  the  Jesuit.  "Officers,  remove 
your  prisoner." 

"Poor  old  man,  "said  Calderon,  turning  towards  the 
cardinal,  who  stood  spell-bound  and  speechless  ,''  thy  life 
at  least  is  safe.    For  me ,  I  defy  fate !  —  Lead  on !  " 


CALDERON.  263 

The  Prince  of  Spain  soon  recovered  from  tlie  shock  which 
the  death  of  Beatriz  at  first  occasioned  him.  New  pleasures 
chased  away  even  remorse.  He  appeared  again  in  pubhc 
a  few  days  after  the  arrest  of  Calderon  ^  and  he  made  strong 
intercession  on  behalf  of  his  former  favourite.  But  even 
had  the  inquisition  desired  to  relax  its  grasp ,  or  Uzeda  to 
lorego  his  vengeance ,  so  great  was  the  exultation  of  the 
people  at  the  fall  of  the  dreaded  and  obnoxious  secretary, 
and  so  numerous  the  charges  which  party  malignity  added 
to  those  which  truth  could  lay  at  his  door,  that  it  w^ould 
have  required  a  far  bolder  monarch  than  Philip  the  Third 
to  have  braved  the  voice  of  a  whole  nation  for  the  sake  of 
a  disgraced  minister.  The  prince  himself  was  soon  in- 
duced ,  by  new  favourites ,  to  consider  any  further  inter- 
ference on  his  part  equally  impolitic  as  vain  •,  and  the  Duke 
d'Uzeda ,  and  Don  Caspar  de  Guzman ,  were  minions  quite 
as  supple ,  while  they  w^ere  companions  infinitely  more  re- 
spectable. 

One  day  an  officer,  attending  the  levee  of  the  prince , 
with  whom  he  was  a  special  favourite ,  presented  a  memo- 
rial requesting  the  interest  of  his  highness  for  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  royal  armies ,  that ,  he  had  just  learned  by  an 
express ,  was  vacant. 

*'  And  whose  death  comes  so  opportunely  for  thy  rise, 
Don  Alvar?  "  asked  the  infant. 

''  Don  Martin  Fonseca.  He  fell  in  the  late  skirmish  , 
pierced  by  a  hundred  wounds.  " 

The  prince  started  ,  and  turned  hastily  away.  The  ofli- 
cer  lost  aU  favour  from  that  hour,  and  never  learned  his 
offence. 

Meanwhile  months  passed,  and  Calderon  still  languished 
in  his  dungeon.  At  last  the  inquisition  opened  against  him 
its  dark  register  of  accusations.  First  of  these  charges  was 
that  of  sorcery,  practised  on  the  king  ^  the  rest  were,  for  the 
most  part ,  equally  grotesque  and  extravagant.  These  ac- 
cusations Calderon  met  with  a  dignity  which  confounded 


264  CALDERON. 

his  foes,  and  belied  the  popular  belief  in  the  elements  of 
his  character.  Submitted  to  the  rack,  he  bore  its  tortures 
without  a  groan  :  and  all  historians  have  accorded  concur- 
rent testimony  to  the  patience  and  heroism  which  charac- 
terised the  close  of  his  wild  and  meteoric  career.  At  length 
Philip  the  Third  died  :  the  infant  ascended  the  throne  — 
that  prince  ,  for  whom  the  ambitious  courtier  had  perilled 
alike  life  and  soul  I  The  people  now  believed  that  they 
should  be  defrauded  of  their  victim.  They  were  mistaken. 
The  new  king ,  by  this  time ,  had  forgotten  even  the  exis- 
tence of  the  favourite  of  the  prince.  But  Guzman  ,  who  , 
while  affecting  to  minister  to  the  interests  of  Uzeda.  was 
secretly  aiming  at  the  monopoly  of  the  royal  favour,  felt 
himself  insecure  while  Calderon  yet  lived.  The  operations 
of  the  inquisition  were  too  slow  for  the  impatience  of  his 
fear-,  and  as  that  dread  tribunal  affected  never  to  inflict 
death  until  the  accused  had  confessed  his  guilt,  the  firm- 
ness of  Calderon  baffled  the  vengeance  of  the  ecclesiastical 
law.  New  inquiries  were  set  on  foot  :  a  corpse  was  disco- 
vered, buried  in  Calderon"s  garden  —  the  corpse  of  a  fe- 
male. He  was  accused  of  the  murder.  Upon  that  charge 
he  was  transferred  from  the  inquisition  to  the  regular  courts 
of  justice.  >'o  evidence  could  be  produced  against  him  : 
but ,  to  the  astonishment  of  all ,  he  made  no  defence  ,  and 
his  silence  was  held  the  witness  of  his  crime.  He  was  ad- 
judged to  the  scaffold  —  he  smiled  when  he  heard  the  sen- 
tence. 

An  immense  crowd,  one  bright  day  in  summer,  were 
assembled  in  the  place  of  execution.  A  shout  of  savage 
exultation  rent  the  air  as  Roderigo  Calderon  ,  Marquis  de 
Siete  Iglesias,  appeared  upon  the  scaffold.  But ,  when  the 
eyes  of  the  multitude  rested— not  upon  that  lofty  and  state- 
ly form ,  in  all  the  pride  of  manhood  .  which  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  associate  with  their  fears  of  the  stern  genius 
and  iron  power  of  the  favourite  —  but  upon  a  bent  and 
spectral  figure,  that  seemed  alreadv  on  the  verge  of  a  na- 


CALDERON.  265 

lural  grave,  with  a  face  ploughed  deep  with  traces  of 
unutterable  wo,  and  hollow  eyes  that  looked,  with  dim 
and  scarce  conscious  light,  over  the  human  sea  that  mur- 
mured and  swayed  below,  the  tide  of  the  popular  emotion 
changed  ;  to  rage  and  triumph  succeeded  shame  and  pity. 
Not  a  hand  was  lifted  up  in  accusation  —  not  a  voice  was 
raised  in  rebuke  or  joy.  Beside  Calderon  stood  the  appoint- 
ed priest,  whispering  cheer  and  consolation. 

"  Fear  not,  my  son ,"  said  the  holy  man.  "  The  pang 
of  the  body  strikes  years  of  purgatory  from  thy  doom. 
Think  of  this,  and  bless  even  the  agony  of  this  hour." 

"Yes  I  "muttered  Calderon-,  "I  do  bless  this  hour. 
Inez ,  thy  daughter  has  avenged  thy  murder  I  May  Heaven 
accept  the  sacrifice  I  and  may  my  eyes ,  even  athwart  the 
fiery  gulf,  awaken  upon  thee  !  " 

With  that ,  a  serene  and  contented  smile  passed  over 
the  face  on  which  the  crowd  gazed  with  breathless  awe.  A 
minute  more ,  and  a  groan  ,  a  cry,  broke  from  that  count- 
less multitude  •,  and  a  gory  and  ghastly  head ,  severed  from 
its  trunk ,  was  raised  on  high. 

Two  spectators  of  that  execution  were  in  one  of  the 
balconies  that.commanded  a  full  view  of  its  terrors. 
"  So  perishes  my  worst  foe  I  "  said  Uzeda. 
"  We  must  sacrifice  all  things ,  friends  as  foes  ,  in  the 
ruthless  march  of  the  Great  Cause ,"  rejoined  the  grand 
inquisitor  •,  but  he  sighed  as  he  spoke. 

"  Guzman  is  now  with  the  king,"  said  Uzeda  ,  turning 
into  the  chamber.  ' '  I  expect  every  instant  a  summons  into 
the  royal  presence." 

"I  cannot  share  thy  sanguine  hopes,  my  son,"  said 
Aliaga ,  shaking  his  head.  "  My  profession  has  made  me 
a  deep  reader  of  human  character.  Caspar  de  Guzman  will 
remove  every  rival  from  his  path." 

While  he  spoke ,  there  entered  a  gentleman  of  the  royal 
chamber.  He  presented  to  the  grand  inquisitor  and  the 
expectant  diike  two  letters  signed  by  the  royal  hand.  They 


'2d6  calderon. 

were  the  mandates  of  banishment  and  disgrace.  Not  even 
the  ghostly  rank  of  the  grand  inquisitor ,  not  even  the 
profound  manoeuvres  of  the  son  of  Lerma ,  availed  them 
against  the  vigilance  and  vigour  of  the  new  favourite. 
Simultaneously,  a  shout  from  the  changeable  crowd  below 
proclaimed  that  the  king's  choice  of  his  new  minister  was 
published  and  approved.  And  Aliaga  and  Uzeda  exchanged 
glances  that  bespoke  all  the  passions  that  make  defeated 
ambition  the  worst  fiend ,  as  they  heard  the  mighty  cry, 
"  Long  live  Olivarez  the  Pveformer  ! " 

That  cry  came  ,  faint  and  muffled ,  to  the  ears  of  Philip 
the  Fourth,  as  he  sate  in  his  palace  with  his  new  minister. 

"  Whence  that  shout?"  said  the  king,  hastily. 

"It  rises,  doubtless,  from  the  honest  hearts  of  your 
loyal  people  at  the  execution  of  Calderon." 

Philip  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand ,  and  mused  a  mo- 
ment :  then ,  turning  to  Olivarez  with  a  sarcastic  smile ,  he 
said  :  "  Behold  the  moral  of  the  life  of  a  courtier,  count! 
— What  do  they  say  of  the  new  opera? " 

At  the  close  of  his  life,  in  disgrace  and  banishment,  the 
count-duke,  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  been  utter- 
ed ,  called  to  his  recollection  those  words  of  his  royal 
master  ' . 

'  The  fate  of  Calderon  has  given  ris<?  to  many  tales  and  legends.  Amongst  those 
who  have  best  availed  themselves  of  so  fruitful  a  subject,  may  be  ranked  the  late 
versatile  and  ingenious  Telesforo  de  Trueba,  in  his  work  on  "■  The  Romance  of 
Spain."  In  a  few  of  the  incidents,  and  in  some  of  the  names,  his  sketch  ,  called 
"  The  Fortunes  of  Calderon  /'  has  a  resemblance  to  the  story  just  concluded.  The 
plot,  characters ,  and  principal  events,  are,  however,  widely  distinct  in  our  several 
adaptations  of  an  ambiguous  and  unsatisfactory  portion  of  Spanish  history. 


THE    END. 


CONTENTS 


LEILA. 

BOOK  I. 

Chap.  I.  The  enchanter  and  the  warrior Page  3 

Chap.  II.  The  king  -sNithin  his  palace 7 

Chap.  III.  The  lovers 16 

Chap.  IV.  The  father  and  daughter 20 

Chap.  V.  Ambition  distorted  into  vice  by  law  . .   24 

Chap.  VI.  The  lion  in  the  net 32 

BOOK  II. 

Chap.  I.  The  royal  tent  of  Spain.  —  The  king  and  the  Dominican.  — 

The  visitor  and  the  hostage 35 

Chap.  II.  The  ambush ,  the  strife ,  and  the  capture 4fi 

Chap.  III.  The  hero  in  the  power  of  the  dreamer 58 

Chap.  IV.  A  fuller  view  of  the  character  of  Boabdil.  —  Muza  in  the 

gardens  of  his  beloved G8 

Chap.  V.  Boabdil's  reconciliation  with  his  people 73 

Chap.  vi.  Leila.  —  Her  new  lover.  —  Portrait  of  the  first  Inquisitor 

of  Spain.  —  The  chalice  returned  to  the  lips  of  Almamen 75 

Chap.  VII.  The  tribunal  and  the  miracle 84 

BOOK  III. 

Chap.  I.  Isabel  and  the  Jewish  maiden ...  90 

Chap.  II.  The  temptation  of  the  Jewess,  — in  which  the  history  passes 

from  the  outward  to  the  internal 94 

Chap.  III.  The  hour  and  the  man 102 

BOOK  IV. 

Chap.  I.  Leila  in  the  castle.  —  The  siege 107 

Chap.  II.  Almamen's  proposed  enterprise.  —  The  three  Israelites. — 
Circumstance  imnresses  each  character  with  a  varying  die   114 


268  CONTENTS. 

Chap.  III.  The  fugitive  and  the  meeting Page  us 

Chap.  IV.  Almamen  hears  and  sees,  but  refuses  to  believe;  for  the 

brain ,  over-wrought ,  grows  dull ,  even  in  the  keenest 123 

Chap.  V.  In  the  ferment  of  great  events  the  dregs  rise 129 

Chap.  VI.  Boabdil's  return.  —  The  reappearance  of  Ferdinand  before 

Granada 136 

Chap.  VII.  The  conflagration.  —  The  majesty  of  an  individual  pas- 
sion in  the  midst  of  hostile  thousands. 138 

BOOK  V. 

Chap.  I.  The  great  battle 143 

Chap.  II.  The  novice 154 

Chap.  III.  The  pause  between  defeat  and  surrender 163 

Chap.  IV.  The  adventure  of  the  solitary  horseman I7i 

Chap.  V.  The  sacrifice 177 

Chap.  VI.  The  return.  —  The  riot.  —  The  treachery.  —  And  the 

death 182 

Chap.  VII.  The  end : 191 


CALDERON,  THE  COURTIER. 

Chap.  I,  The  antechamber 201 

Chap.  II.  The  lover  and  the  confidant 209 

Chap.  III.  A  rival 214 

Chap.  IV.  Civil  ambition  ,  and  ecclesiastical 219 

Chap.  V.  The  true  fata  morgana 223 

Chap.  VI.  Web  upon  web 228 

Chap.*  VII.  The  open  countenance  ,  the  concealed  thoughts 233 

Chap.  VIII.  The  escape 237 

Chap.  IX.  The  counterplot 250 

Chap.  X.  We  reap  what  we  sow 256 

Chap.  XI.  Howsoever  the  rivers  wind,  the  Ocean  receives  them  all.  258 


THE  LADY  OF  LYONS, 


OR 

LOVE  AND  PRIDE; 

A  PLAY  L\  FIVE  ACTS, 

AS    PERFORMED    AT    THE    THEATRE    ROYAL    COVENT    GARDIS, 


PREFACE, 


An  indistinct  recollection  of  tho  very  pretty  little  tale ,  — 
called  ''  Perouse,  or  the  Bellows-Mender,"  suggested  the  plot 
of  this  Drama.  The  incidents  are,  however,  greatly  altered 
from  those  in  Perouse,  and  the  characters  entirely  re-cast.  In 
the  selection  of  the  time  in  which  the  Play  has  heen  laid ,  I  was 
guided ,  naturally  and  solely,  by  the  wish  to  take  that  period  in 
which  the  incidents  might' be  "rendered  most  probable,  and  in 
which  the  probationary  career  of  the  hero,  in  the  Fifth  Act, 

—  upon  which  the  denouement,  and,  indeed,  the  design, 
depends,  —  might  be  sufficiently  rapid  for  dramatic  effect, 
and  (on  account  of  that  very  rapidity)  in  accordance  with  the 
ordinaq^  character  and  events  of  the  age.  The  early  years  of 
the  first  and  most  brilliant  successes  of  the  French  Republic 
appeared  to  constitute  the  only  epoch  in  which  these  objects 
could  be  attained.  It  was  a  period  when,  in  the  general  ferment 
of  society,  and  the  brief  equalization  of  ranks ,  Claude's  high- 
placed  love,  his  ardent  feelings,  his  unsettled  principles,  — 
the  struggle  between  which  makes  the  passion  of  this  drama , 

—  his  ambition  ,  and  his  career,  were  phenomena  that  charac- 
terised the  time  itself,  and  in  Avhich  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
went  along  with  the  extravagance  of  the  individual.  In  some 
respects,  Claude  Melnotte  is  a  type  of  that  restless,  brilliant, 
and  evanescent  generation  that  sprung  up  from  the  ashes  of  the 
terrible  revolution ,  —  men ,  born  to  be  agents  of  the  genius 
of  Napoleon,  to  accomplish  the  most  marvellous  exploits,  and 
to  leave  but  little  of  permanent  triumph  and  solid  advantage  to 
the  succeeding  race. 

In  selecting  this  period  as  one  best  suited  to  the  develop- 
ment of  a  story  which  seemed  to  me  rich  in  materials  of  dra- 
matic interest,  I  can  honestly  say  that  I  endeavoured,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  avoid  every  political  allusion  applicable  to  our 
own  time  and  land,  —  our  own  party  prejudices  and  passions. 
How  difficult  a  task  this  was,  a  reference  to  any  Drama,  in 
which  the  characters  are  supposed  to  live  under  Republican 
institutions ,  will  prove !  There  is  scarcely  a  single  play,  the 
scene  of  which  is  laid  in  Rome ,  in  Greece ,  in  Switzerland , 
wherein  political  allusions  and  political  declamations  are  not 


4  PR K FACE. 

carefully  elaborated  as  the  most  striking  and  telling  parts  of  the 
performance'. 

The  principal  fault  of  this  Play,  as  characteristic  of  the  time, 
is,  perhaps,  indeed,  the  too  cautions  avoidance  of  all  those 
references  to  Liberty  and  Equality  in  which,  no  doubt,  every 
man  living  at  that  day  T\ould  have  hourly  indulged.  The  old 
and  classical  sentiment,  tli'at  virtue  is  nobility  {virtas  est  sola 
nohilitas),  contains  the  pith  of  all  the  political  creed  announced 
by  Claucle  Melnotte  ;  and  that  sentiment  is  the  founder,  and 
often  the  motto ,  of  Aristocracy  itself.  It  is  a  sentiment  that 
never  will,  I  trust,  be  considered  revolutionary  in  a  country' 
w  hich  boasts ,  among  its  proudest  names ,  the  Wellesleys  and 
the  Russells  —  the  Stanleys  and  the  Howards.  —  It  is  one 
which  the  scribblers,  sprung  from  a  dunghill, may  be  assured 
that  there  are  few  men  of  blood  and  birth  who  will  disavow. 
In  fact,  the  enthusiam  of  Claude  is  far  more  that  of  a  soldier 
than  a  citizen  ^ ;  and  it  is  not  the  reasoner  nor  the  politician , 

—  but  the  man,  with  his  feelings  and  his  struggles,  —  with 
whom  the  audience  sympathise ,  when  he  glories  in  the  re- 
demption of  his  name.  It  is  perfectly  clear  that  neither  the 
English  author  nor  the  English  audience  can  recognise  much 
in  harmony  with  their  own  sentiments,  when  Claude  declares 
that  the  gold  he  has  won  in  the  campaign  in  Italy  'Us  hallowed 
in  the  cause  of  nations!  "  The  question  for  us  to  consider  is, 
not  w  hether  an  Englishman  or  a  philosopher  would  think  that 
there  was  any  sanctity  in  the  principles  of  that  brilliant  war, 
but  w  hether  an  enthusiastic  soldier  under  Napoleon  would  not 
have  believed  it.  Our  national  prepossessions  and  prejudices, 

—  our  closeness  to  an  age,  the  false  glitter  of  which  we  can  so 
well  detect  —  alike ,  I  hope,  guard  us  against  all  political 
infection  from  a  play  cast  in  a  time  when  the  coming  shadow 
of  a  military  despotism  was  already  darkening  the  prospects  of 
an  unwise  and  weak  Republic :  and  if  there  be  anywhere  the 
antipodes  to  the  French  Jacobin  of  the  last  century,  it  is  the 
English  Reformer  of  the  present.  For  my  own  part ,  I  ne\  er 

>  The  noble  tragedy  of  "  Ion"  has  for  its  very  plot ,  its  very  catastrophe ,  almost  its 
very  moral,  the  abolition  ot  Royalty  and  the  establishment  ot  a  Republic:  -  yet  no 
one  would  suspect  Serjeant  Talfourd  of  designing  the  overthrow  of  the  British  Consli- 

^"'A"he  allusion  to  the  rapidity  of  promotion  in  the  French  army  was  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  conduct  of  the  story;  and,  after  all,  it  is  expressed  m  language  bor- 
rowed and  adapted  from  that  very  Jacobinical  authority,  Horatio  Viscount  ?jelson. 
Tv.oris  it  easv  to  conceive  how  the  sentiment  —  ibat  merit,  not  money,  should  pur- 
chase promofion  in  the  Army- can  be  called  a  RepubUcan  docXvlne ;  sinc^  though  it 
cerlaiulv  did  pervade  the  French  Republican  Army,  it  inculcates  a  principle  far  more 
common  in  Despotic  Countries  than  under  Free  Inslitulions^y  e  musliook  to  the 
anaais  of  ihe  East  for  the  most  frequent  examples  of  the  rise  of  fortunate  soldiers. 


PREFACE.  5 

met  with  any  one ,  however  warm  •:  lover  of  abstract  liberty, 
who  had  a  svmpatby  va  ilb  the  principles  of  the  Directory  and  the 
Government  of  M.  Barras.  But  enouirh  in  contradiction  of  a 
charge  which  the  whole  Enghsh  pubhc  have  ridiculed  and 
scouted,  and  which  has  sought  to  introduce  into  the  free 
domains  of  art ,  all  the  miserable  calumnies  and  wretched  spleen 
of  party  hostilities. 

The  faults  of  the  Play  itself  I  do  not  seek  to  defend  :  such 
faults  are  the  fair  and  just  materials  for  criticism  and  cavil.  I 
am  perfectly  aware  that  it  is  a  very  slight  and  trivial  per- 
formance ,  and,  being  written  solely  for  the  Stage,  may  possess 
but  a  feeble  interest  in  the  closet.  It  was  composed  with  a  two- 
fold object.  In  the  first  place ,  sympathising  with  the  enterprise 
of  Mr.  Macready,  as  Manager  of  Covent  Garden,  and  believing 
that  miany  of  the  higher  interests  of  the  Drama  were  involved 
in  the  success  or  failure  of  an  enterprise  equally  hazardous 
and  disinterested ,  I  felt ,  if  I  may  so  presume  to  express  myself, 
something  of  the  Brotherhood"  of  Art ;  and  it  was  only  for 
Mr.  Macready  to  think  it  possible  that  I  might  serve  him ,  to 
induce  me  to  make  the  attempt. 

Secondly,  in  that  attempt  I  was  mainly  anxious  to  see 
whether  or  not  certain  critics  had  truly  declared  that  it  was 
not  in  mv  power  to  attain  the  art  of  dramatic  construction  and 
theatrical  effect.  1  felt,  indeed,  that  it  was  in  this  that  a  writer, 
accustomed  to  the  narrative  class  of  composition ,  would  have 
the  most  both  to  learn  and  to  wnlearn.  Accordingly,  it  was  to 
the  development  of  the  plot  and  the  arrangemeni  of  the  inci- 
dents that  i  directed  my  chief  attention;  —  and  I  sought  to 
throw  whatever  belongs  to  poetry  less  into  the  diction  and  the 
'  felicitv  of  words '  than  into  the  construction  of  the  story,  the 
creation  of  the  characters,  and  the  spirit  of  the  pervading  senti- 
ment. With  this  acknowledgment,  may  1  hazard  a  doubt 
whether  any  more  ornate  or  more  elevated  style  of  lan;juage 
would  be  so  appropriate  to  the  rank  of  the  characters  intro- 
duced, or  would  leave  so  clear  and  uninterrupted  an  effect  to 
the  strength  and  progress  of  that  domestic  interest,  which 
( since  1  do  not  arrogate  the  entire  credit  of  its  invention )  I 
may,  perhaps ,  be  allowed  to  call  the  chief  attraction  of  the 
Play. 

Having ,  on  presenting  this  drama  to  the  Theatre ,  confided 
the  secret  of  its  authorship  to  the  Manager  alone,  — having, 
therefore  induced  no  party,  —  no  single  friend  or  favourer  of 
mv  own,  —  to  attend  the  early  performances  which  decided  its 


6  PREFACE. 

success,  —  I  hope  that  on  my  side  ''  The  Lady  of  Lyons"  has 
been  fairlv  left  to  the  verdict  of  the  Pubhc  ,  —  let  me  now  also 
hope  an  equal  fairness  from  those  who  wish  to  condemn  the 
Politician  in  the  Author.  I  have  no  intention  of  writing  again 
for  the  Stage ;  and ,  therefore ,  so  far  as  my  own  experiment  is 
concerned,  I  have  but  little  to  hope  or  fear.  Do  not  let  those 
who  love  the  literature  of  the  Drama  discourage  other  men , 
immeasurablv  more  fitted  to  adorn  it ,  solely  because  in  a  free 
countrv  they  may,  like  the  Author  of  this  Play,  have  ventured 
elsewhere  to  express  political  opinions. 

I  cannot  conclude  without  expressing  my  high  sense  of  the 
care  with  which  the  ''  Lady  of  Lyons"  was  introduced  on  the 
Stage ,  —  of  its  obligations  to  Mr.  Macready,  not  less  as  a 
Manager  who  neglected  no  detail  that  could  conduce  to  the 
effect  of  the  representation ,  than  as  an  Actor  who  realised  and 
exalted  every  design  of  the  Author.  The  power  and  pathos 
which  Miss  Faucit^s  acting  infused  into  language  that  will  seem 
comparativelv  tame  and  cold  to  the  reader, — the  easy  skill  with 
which  Mr.  Bartley  threw  his  own  racy  and  vigorous  humour 
into  the  character  of  Colonel  Damas,^  — the  zeal  and  abilitv" 
which,  in  Mr.  Elton's  Beauseant ,  relieved  and  elevated  a  part 
necessarilv  unpleasing  to  an  actor  of  his  station ;  and  the  per- 
formances, so  accurate  and  spirited  ,  of  the  characters  less  pro- 
minent in  the  development  of  the  story,  especially  of  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford and  Mr.  Meadows ,  —  have  already  received  a  far  higher 
reward  than  the  acknowledgment  of  the  Author,  in  the  cordial 
applauses  of  the  Audience. 

E.  L.  B. 


London,  February  2^i ,  1838. 


TO 

THE  AUTHOR  OF     ION, 

U  HOSE    GENIUS    AND    EXAMPLE    HAVE    ALIKE    CONTBIBUTFD 
TOWARDS   THE   REGENERATION 

OF 

THE  NATIOINAL  DRAMA, 
THIS  PLAY  IS  LNSCRIBED. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


BEAUSEANT  ( a  rich  gentleman  of  Lyons ,  in  love 
with  ,  and  refused  by,  Pauline  Deschappelles). . . .     Mr. 

GLAVIS  ( his  friend ,  also  a  rejected  suitor  to  Pauline).     Mr 

Colonel,  afterwards  general,  DAMAS  (cousin  to 
Madame  Deschappelles ,  and  an  Officer  in  the 
French  army) Mr, 

MoxNsieur  deschappelles  (  a  Lyonnese  merchant , 
father  to  Pauline ) Mr 

Landlord  of  the  GOLDEN  LION Mr 

GASPAR Mr, 

CLAUDE  MELNOTTE   Mr. 

First  Officer     -. 

Second  Officer   (   Messrs.  Howe,  Pritchard,  and  Roberts. 

Third  Officer     \ 

Servants,  Notary,  etc. 

Madame  DESCHAPPELLES Mrs. 

PAULINE  (her  daughter) .' Miss 

The  widow  MELNOTTE  ( mother  to  Claude. ).......     Mrs. 

JANET  (the  inn-keeper's  daughter). Mrs. 

MARIAN  ( maid  to  Pauline) , Miss 


Elton. 
Meadows. 


Bartley. 
Strickland. 

Y ARNOLD. 
DiDDEAR. 

Macready. 


Clifford. 
Helen  Faucit. 
Griffith. 
East. 
Garrick. 


Scene— Lyons  and  the  neighbourhood. 
Time,  1795—1798. 


THE  LADY   OF  LYONS, 


OR 


LOVE  A^D   PRIDE. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

A  room  in  the  house  ofM.  Deschappelles,  at  Lyons.  Pau- 
line reclining  on  a  sofa  :  Marian ,  her  Maid ,  fanning 
her.— Flowers  and  notes  on  a  table  beside  the  sofa.— 
Madame  Deschappelles  seated.  —  The  Gardens  are 
seen  from  the  open  window. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Marian  ,  put  that  rose  a  little  more  to  the  left. — 
{Marian  alters  the  position  of  arose  in  Pauline's  hair.) 
Ah,  sol — that  improves  the  air, — the  tournure, — the  je  ne 
sals  quoil — You  are  certainly  very  handsome,  child  I — quite 
my  style  I— 1  don't  wonder  that  you  make  such  a  sensation  I — 
Old,  young,  rich,  and  poor,  do  homage  to  the  Beauty  of 
Lyons! — Ah,  we  live  again  in  our  children,  —  especially 
when  they  have  our  eyes  and  complexion  I 
PAULINE  {languidly). 

Dear  mother,  you  spoil  your  Pauline  I {aside)  I  wish  I 

knew  who  sent  me  these  flowers  I 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

No  ,  child.'— if  I  praise  you,  it  is  only  to  inspire  you  with 
a  proper  ambition. — You  are  born  to  make  a  great  marriage. 
— Beauty  is  valuable  or  worthless  according  as  you  invest  the 
property  to  the  best  advantage. — Marian ,  go  and  order  the 
carriage  I  [Exit  Marian. 

PAULL\E. 

Who  can  it  be  that  sends  me,  every  day,  these  beautiful 
flowers  ? — how  sweet  they  are  I 

{Enter  Servant.) 

SERVAZST. 

Monsieur  Beauseant,  madame. 


10  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  i. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

Let  him  enter.  Pauline,  this  is  another  offer  I— I  know  it 
is!— Your  father  should  engage  an  additional  clerk  to  keep 
the  account-book  of  your  conquests. 

(Enter  Beauseant.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Ah,  ladies,  how  fortunate  I  am  to  find  you  at  home! 

{aside)  How  lovely  she  looks !— It  is  a  great  sacrifice  I  make 
in  marrying  into  a  family  in  trade ! — they  will  be  eternally 

grateful! {aloud)  Madame,  you  will  permit  me  a  word 

with  your  charming  daughter. {Approaches  Pauline, 

who  rises  disdainfully) Mademoiselle,  I  have  ventured 

to  wait  upon  you ,  in  a  hope  that  you  must  long  since  have 
divined.  Last  night,  when  you  outshone  all  the  beauty  of 
Lyons  ,  you  completed  your  conquest  over  me  !  You  know 
that  my  fortune  is  not  exceeded  by  any  estate  in  the  Pro- 
vince,—you  know  that,  but  for  the  Revolution,  which  has 
defrauded  me  of  my  titles ,  I  should  be  noble.  May  I ,  then  , 
trust  that  you  will  not  reject  my  aUiance?  I  offer  you  my  hand 
and  heart. 

PAULINE  {aside). 

He  has  the  air  of  a  man  who  confers  a  favour! — {aloud) 
Sir,  you  are  very  condescending — 1  thank  you  humbly^  but, 
being  duly  sensible  of  my  own  demerits,  you  must  allow  mi; 
to  decline  the  honour  you  propose. 

( Curtsies,  and  turns  away. ) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Decline !  impossible  I  ~  you  are  not  serious !  —  Madame , 
suffer  me  to  appeal  ioyou.  I  am  a  suitor  for  your  daughter's 
hand — the  settlements  shall  be  worthy  her  beauty  and  my 
station.   May  I  wait  on  M.  Deschappelles  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

M.  Deschappelles  never  interferes  in  the  domestic  arran- 
gements ,  —you  are  very  obliging.  If  you  were  still  a  Mar- 
quis, or  if  my  daughter  were  intended  to  marry  a  commoner, 
—why,  perhaps  ,  we  might  give  you  the  preference. 

BEAUSEANT. 

A  commoner ! — we  are  all  commoners  in  France  now. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

In  France,  yes  ^  but  there  is  a  nobility  still  left  in  the  other 
countries  in  Europe.  We  are  quite  aware  of  your  good  qua- 


SCE.NEI.J  OR    LOVE    A.ND    PRIDE.  11 

lities,  and  don't  doubt  that  you  will  find  some  lady  more 
suitable  to  your  pretensions.  We  shall  be  ahvays  happy  to 
see  you  as  an  acquaintance,  M.  Beauseant I  —  My  dear 
child,  the  carriage  will  be  here  presently. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Saynomore,  Madamel— say  no  morel— {aside)  Refused! 
and  by  a  merchant's  daughter  I— refused  I  It  will  be  all  over 
Lyons  before  sunset!— I  will  go  and  bury  myself  in  my  cha- 
teau, study  philosophy,  and  turn  woman-hater.  Refused! 
they  ought  to  be  sent  to  a  madhouse!— Ladies,  I  have  the 
honour  to  wish  you  a  very  good  morning. 

[Exit  Beauseant. 

3IADAME    DESCHAP. 

How  forward  these  men  are !  —I  think,  child ,  we  kept  up 
our  dignity.  Any  girl ,  however  inexperienced ,  knows  how 
to  accept  an  offer,  but  it  requires  a  vast  deal  of  address  to 
refuse  one  with  proper  condescension  and  disdain.  I  used  to 
practise  it  at  school  with  the  dancing-master! 
[Enter  Damas.) 

DAMAS. 

Good  morning,  cousin  Deschappelles.— Well ,  Pauline, 
are  you  recovered  from  last  night's  ball?— So  many  triumphs 
must  be  very  fatiguing.  Even  M.  Glavis  sighed  most  piteously 
when  you  departed ;  but  that  might  be  the  effect  of  the 
supper. 

PAULINE. 

M.  Glavis  ,  indeed  ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

M.  Glavis  !— as  if  my  daughter  would  think  of  M.  Glavis  ! 

DAMAS. 

Hey-day! -why  not?— His  father  left  him  a  very  pretty 
lortune  ,  and  his  birth  is  higher  than  yours ,  cousin  Deschap- 
pelles.  But  perhaps  you  are  looking  to  M.  Beauseant ,— his 
father/,vas  a  Marquis  before  the  Revolution. 

PAULINE. 

M.  Beauseant !— Cousin ,  you  delight  in  tormenting  me  ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Don't  mind  him,  Pauhne!— Cousin  Damas,  you  have  no 
susceptibility  of  feeling , — there  is  a  certain  indelicacy  in  all 
your  ideas.— M.  Beauseant  knows  already  that  he  is  no  match 
for  my  daughter ! 


12  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  i. 

DAMAS. 

Pooh!  pooh!  one  would  think  you  intended  your  daughter 
to  marry  a  prince ! 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

Well ,  and  if  I  did  ? — what  then  ? — many  a  foreign  prince— 

DAMAS  ( interrupting  her ). 
Foreign  prince  !  —foreign  fiddlestick  !  —  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  such  nonsense  at  your  time  of  life. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

My  time  of  life !  —  That  is  an  expression  never  applied  to 
any  lady  till  she  is  sixty-nine  and  three-quarters ;  —  and  only 
then  by  the  clergyman  of  the  parish. 

[Enter  Servant.) 

SERVANT. 

Madame ,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door.  [  Exit  Servant. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Come ,  child ,  put  on  your  bonnet  —  you  really  have  a  very 
thorough-bred  air — not  at  all  like  your  poor  father. — [fondly) 
Ah,  you  little  coquette!  when  a  young  lady  is  always  making 
mischief,  it  is  a  sure  sign  that  she  takes  after  her  mother! 

PAULINE. 

Good  day,  cousin  Damas  —  and  a  better  humour  to  you — 
[going  hack  to  the  table  and  taking  the  flowers).  Who 
could  have  sent  me  these  flowers  ? 

[^Exeunt  Pauline  and  Madame  Deschappelles, 

DAMAS. 

That  would  be  an  excellent  girl  if  her  head  had  not  been 
turned.  I  fear  she  is  now  become  incorrigible !  Zounds,  what 
a  lucky  fellow  I  am  to  be  still  a  bachelor !  They  may  talk  of 
the  devotion  of  the  sex  — but  the  most  faithful  attachment  in 
hfe  is  that  of  a  woman  in  love  —  with  herself!  [Exit. 

SCENE  II. 

The  exterior  of  a  small  Village  Inn  — sign  the  Golde/i 
Lion  —  a  fevp  leagues  from,  Lyons ,  which  is  seen  at  a, 
distance. 

BEAUSEANT  ( behind  the  seen es ) . 
Yes ,  you  may  bait  the  horses ,  we  shall  rest  here  an  hour. 


SCESE  ii.J  OR    LOVE    A>"D    PRIDE.  13 

{Enter  Beau  scant  and  Glavis.) 

GLAVIS. 

Really,  my  dear  Beauseant ,  consider  that  I  have  promised 
to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  you  at  your  chateau  — that  I  am 
quite  at  your  mercy  for  my  entertainment  —  and  yet  you  are 
as  silent  and  as  gloomy  as  a  mute  at  a  funeral ,  or  an  Eng- 
lishman at  a  party  of  pleasure. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Bear  with  me  I  —  the  fact  is  that  I  am  miserable. 

GLAVIS. 

You  —  the  richest  and  gayest  bachelor  in  Lyons? 

BEAUSEA>T. 

It  is  because  I  am  a  bachelor  that  I  am  miserable.  — Thou 
knowest  Pauline — the  only  daughter  of  the  rich  merchant, 
Mons.  Deschappelles? 

GLAVIS. 

Know  her  I  —  who  does  not  ?  —  as  pretty  as  Venus,  and  as 
proud  as  Juno. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Her  taste  is  worse  than  her  pride — [drawing  himself  up). 
Know,  Glavis ,  slie  has  actually  refused  me  I 
GLAVIS  {aside). 

So  she  has  me  I  — very  consoling  I  In  all  cases  of  heart-ache, 
the  application  of  another  man's  disappointment  draws  out 
the  pain  ,  and  allays  the  irritation.  —  {Aloud)  Refused  you  I 
and  wherefore? 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  not,  unless  it  be  because  the  Revolution  swept 
away  my  fathers  title  of  ?»Iarquis  —  and  she  will  not  marry  a 
commoner.  ]Now,  as  we  have  no  noblemen  left  in  France,  as 
we  are  all  citizens  and  equals ,  she  can  only  hope  that ,  in 
spite  of  the  war,  some  English  Milord  or  German  Count  will 
risk  his  life,  by  coming  to  Lyons  and  making  her  my  Lady. 
Refused  me ,  and  with  scorn  I  —  By  heaven  ,  I'll  not  submit  to 
it  tamely  —  I'm  in  a  perfect  fever  of  mortification  and  rage. — 
Refuse  me ,  indeed  I 

GLAVIS. 

Be  comforted ,  my  dear  fellow  —  I  will  tell  you  a  secret. 
For  the  same  reason  she  refused  3ie  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  I — that's  a  verv  different  matter  I  But  give  me  vour 


14  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS,  [act  i. 

hand,  Glavis  —  we'll  think  of  some  plan  to  humble  her.  By 
Jove,  I  should  like  to  see  her  married  to  a  strolling 
player  I 

{Enter  Landlord  and  his  Daughter,  from  the  Inn.) 

LANDLORD. 

Your  servant,  citizen  Beauseant  —  servant,  Sir.  Perhaps 
you  will  take  dinner  before  you  proceed  to  your  chateau  \  our 
larder  is  most  plentifully  supplied. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  have  no  appetite. 

GLAVIS. 

Nor  I.  Still  it  is  bad  travelling  on  an  empty  stomach. 
What  have  you  got? 

( Takes  and  looks  over  the  bill  of  fare.) 

( Shout  without)  —  "  Long  live  the  Prince  I  —  Long  live 
the  Prince  I" 

BEAUSEANT. 

The  Prince  I  —what  Prince  is  that?  I  thought  we  had  no 
princes  left  in  France. 

LANDLORD. 

Ha ,  ha!  the  lads  always  call  him  Prince.  He  has  just  won 
the  prize  in  the  shooting-match,  and  they  are  taking  him 
home  in  triumph. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Him  !  and  who's  M.  Him? 

LANDLORD. 

Who  should  he  be ,  but  the  pride  of  the  village ,  Claude 
Melnotte?  — Of  course  you  have  heard  of  Claude  Melnotle? 
GLAVIS  {giving  back  the  bill  of  fare). 

Never  had  that  honour.  Soup  —  ragout  of  hare  —  roast 
chicken ,  and ,  in  short ,  all  you  have  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

The  son  of  old  Melnotte ,  the  gardener  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Exactly  so  — a  wonderful  young  man. 

BEAUSEANT. 

How  wonderful?  —  are  his  cabbages  better  than  other 
people's  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Nay,  he  don't  garden  any  more  \  his  father  left  him  well  otF. 
He's  only  a  genus. 


SCENE  II.]  OR    LOVE    A>D    PRIDE.  15 

GLAVIS. 

A  what  ? 

LANDLORD. 

A  genus  I — a  man  who  can  do  everything  in  life,  except 
anything  that's  useful ;  —  that's  a  genus. 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  raise  my  curiosity  —  proceed. 

LANDLORD. 

AVell ,  then  ,  about  four  years  ago,  old  Melnotte  died  and 
lelt  his  son  well  to  do  in  the  world.  We  then  all  observed 
that  a  great  change  came  over  young  Claude  :  he  took  to 
reading  and  Latin ,  and  hired  a  professor  from  Lyons ,  who 
had  so  much  in  his  head  that  he  was  forced  to  wear  a  great 
full-bottom  wig  to  cover  it.  Then  he  took  a  fencing-master , 
and  a  dancing-master,  and  a  music-master ;  and  then  he  learn- 
ed to  paint  ^  and  at  last  it  was  said  that  young  Claude  was  to 
go  to  Paris ,  and  set  up  for  a  painter.  The  lads  laughed  at  him 
at  first  •,  but  he  is  a  stout  fellow,  is  Claude  ,  and  as  brave  as  a 
lion ,  and  soon  taught  them  to  laugh  the  wrong  side  of  their 
mouths ;  and  now  all  the  boys  swear  by  him,  and  all  the  girls 
pray  for  him 

BEAUSEANT. 

A  promising  youth,  certainly!  And  why  do  they  call  lum 
Prince  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Partly  because  he  is  at  the  head  of  them  all ,  and  partly 
because  he  has  such  a  proud  way  with  him ,  and  wears  such 
line  clothes  —  and,  in  short  —  looks  like  a  prince. 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  what  could  have  turned  the  foolish  fellow's  brain  ? 
The  Revolution  ,  I  suppose  ? 

LANDLORD. 

Yes  — the  Revolution  that  turns  us  all  topsyturvy  — the 
revolution  of  Love. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Romantic  young  Corydon  I  And  with  whom  is  he  in  love? 

LANDLORD. 

Why  —  but  it  is  a  secret ,  gentlemen. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Oh  I  certainlv.  , 


16  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  i. 

LANDLORD. 

Why,  then,  I  hear  from  his  mother,  good  soul !  that  it  is 
no  less  a  person  than  the  Beauty  of  Lyons,  Pauline  Deschap- 
pelles. 

BEAUSEANT   AND   GLAYIS. 

Ha!  ha  I  Capital! 

,  LANDLORD. 

You  may  laugh  ,  but  it  is  as  true  as  I  stand  here. 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  what  does  the  Beauty  of  Lyons  say  to  his  suit? 

LANDLORD. 

Lord ,  Sir,  she  never  even  condescended  to  look  at  him  , 
though  when  he  was  a  boy  he  worked  in  her  father's  garden. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 

LANDLORD. 

His  mother  says  that  Mademoiselle  does  not  know  him  by 
sight. 

BEAUSEANT  {taking  Glavis  aside). 

I  have  hit  it,  — I  have  it  ^  —  here  is  our  revenge !  Here  is  a 
prince  for  our  haughty  damsel.  Do  you  take  me  ? 

GLAVIS. 

Deuce  take  me  if  I  do  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

Blockhead  I  —  it's  as  clear  as  a  map.  What  if  we  could 
make  this  elegant  clown  pass  himself  ofl"  as  a  foreign  prince  ? 
^—lend  him  money,  clothes,  equipage  for  the  purpose?  — 
make  him  propose  to  Pauline! — marry  Pauline ?  Would  it 
not  be  delicious  ? 

GLAVIS. 

Ha !  ha !  —  Excellent !  But  how  shall  we  support  the  ne- 
cessary expenses  of  his  highness  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Pshaw !  Revenge  is  worth  a  much  larger  sacrifice  than  a 
few  hundred  louis^  —  as  for  details,  my  valet  is  the  trustiest 
fellow  in  the  world ,  and  shall  have  the  appointment  of  his 
highness's  establishment.  Let's  go  to  him  at  once ,  and  see  if 
he  be  really  this  Admirable  Crichton. 

GLAVIS. 

With  all  my  heart;  —  but  the  dinner ? 


SCKNBIII.]  OR    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  17 

BEAUSEAKT. 

Always  thinking  of  dinner  I  Hark  ye,  Landlord,  how  far  is  it 
to  young Melnotte's  cottage  ?  I  should  like  to  see  such  a  prodigy. 

LANDLORD. 

Turn  down  the  lane,  —  then  strike  across  the  common, 
—  and  you  will  see  his  mother's  cottage. 

BEAUSEANT. 

True,  he  lives  with  his  mother.  —  [J side)  We  will  not  trust 
to  an  old  woman's  discretion  ;  better  send  for  him  hither.  TU 
just  step  in  and  write  him  a  note.  Come  ,  Glavis. 

GLAVIS. 

Yes, —Beauseant ,  Glavis,  and  Co.,  manufacturers  of 
princes,  wholesale  and  retail,  —  an  uncommonly  genteel  line 
of  business.  But  why  so  grave? 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  think  only  of  the  sport ,  — I  of  the  revenge. 

{Exeunt  within  the  Inn. 

SCENE  III. 

The  Interior  of  Melnotte' s  Cottage^  flowers  placed  here 
and  there  y  a  guitar  on  an  oaken  table,  with  a  port- 
folio,  etc.;  a  picture  on  an  easel,  covered  by  a  curtain; 
fencing-foils  crossed  over  the  mantelpiece ;  an  attempt 
at  refinement  in  spite  of  the  homeliness  of  the  furni- 
ture ,  etc.:  a  staircase  to  the  right  conducts  to  the  upper 
story. 

{Shout  without)  —  "  Long  live  Claude  Melnotte  I  "  "Long 
live  the  prince  I  " 

THE    ^VIDO^V   MELNOTTE. 

Hark  I  -  there's  my  dear  son  ^  —  carried  off  the  prize ,  I'm 
sure  :  and  now  he'll  want  to  treat  them  alL 

CLAUDE  MELNOTTE  [opening  the  dooi^). 
What  I  you  won't  come  in ,  my  friends  1    Well ,  well ,  — 
there's  a  trifle  to  make  merry  elsewhere.  Good  day  to  you 
all ,  —  Good  day ! 
{Shout)  —  "  Hurrah  I  Long  live  Prince  Claude  I  " 
{Enter  Claude  Melnotte,  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Give  me  joy,  dear  mother  I  I've  won  the  prize!  —  never 
missed  one  shot  I  Is  it  not  handsome ,  this  gun  ? 

9 


18  THE    LADY   OF    LYONS,  [act  I. 

AVIDOW. 

Humph  !  ^yell ,  what  is  it  worth ,  Claude  ? 

MELISOTTE. 

Worth  I  What  is  a  rihbon  worth  to  a  soldier?  Worth !  — 
everything !  Glory  is  priceless  ! 

WIDOW. 

Leave  glory  to  great  folks.  Ah  I  Claude ,  castles  in  the  air 
cost  a  vast  deal  to  keep  up !  How  is  all  this  to  end?  What 
good  does  it  to  thee  to  learn  Latin ,  and  sing  songs ,  and  play 
on  the  guitar,  and  fence,  and  dance,  and  paint  pictures? 
All  very  fine  •,  but  what  does  it  bring  in  ?• 

MELNOTTE. 

Wealth  I  wealth,  my  mother!  —  Wealth  to  the  mind  — 
wealth  to  the  heart—  high  thoughts—  bright  dreams  —  the 
hope  of  fame  —  the  ambition  to  be  worthier  to  love  Pauline. 

WIDOW. 

My  poor  son  I  —  The  young  lady  will  never  think  of  thee. 

HELx>'0TTE. 

Do  the  stars  think  of  us  ?  Yet  if  the  prisoner  see  them  shine 
into  his  dungeon,  would'st  tliou  bid  him  turn  away  from 
their  lustre?  Even  so  from  this  low  cell ,  poverty,  — 1  lift  my 
eyes  to  Pauline  and  forget  my  chains. 

(  Goes  to  the  picture  and  drav^s  aside  the  curtain. ) 
See ,  this  is  her  image  —  painted  from  memory.  —  Oh ,  how 
the  canvas  wrongs  her  I 

(  Takes  up  the  brush  and  throws  it  aside. ) 
I  shall  never  be  a  painter.  I  can  paint  no  likeness  but  one  , 
and  that  is  above  all  art.  I  would  turn  soldier — France  needs 
soldiers  I  But  to  leave  the  air  that  Pauline  breathes  I  What  is 
the  hour?  —  so  late?  I  will  tell  thee  a  secret,  mother.  Thou 
knowest  that  for  the  last  six  weeks  I  have  sent  every  day  the 
rarest  flowers  to  Pauline  •,  —  she  wears  them.  I  have  seen 
them  on  her  breast.  Ah ,  and  then  the  whole  universe  seemed 
filled  with  odours  1  I  have  now  grown  more  bold  —  I  have 
poured  my  worship  into  poetry  —  1  have  sent  the  verses  to 
Pauline  —  I  have  signed  them  with  my  own  name,  ^ly  mes- 
senger ought  to  be  back  by  this  time  ^  I  bade  him  wait  for  the 
answer. 

WIDOW. 

And  what  answer  do  vou  exr.ect,  Claude? 


SCENE  III.]  OR    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  19 

3IELN0TTE. 

That  which  the  Queen  of  Navarre  sent  to  the  poor  trouba- 
dour :  —  "  Let  me  see  the  Oracle  that  can  tell  nations  I  am 
beautiful  I"  She  will  admit  me.  I  shall  hear  her  speak  —  I 
shall  meet  her  eyes  —  I  shall  read  upon  her  cheek  the  sweet 
thoughts  that  translate  themselves  into  blushes.  Then— then, 
oh,  then ,  —  she  may  forget  that  I  am  the  peasants  son  I 

WIDOW. 

Nay,  if  she  will  but  hear  thee  talk ,  Claude  I 

3IELN0TTE. 

I  foresee  it  all.  She  will  tell  me  that  desert  is  the  true  rank. 
She  will  give  me  a  badge  —  a  flower — a  glove !  Oh ,  rapture  I 
I  shall  join  the  armies  of  the  Pvepublic  —  I  shall  rise  —  I  shall 
win  a  name  that  beauty  will  not  blush  to  hear.  I  shall  return 
with  the  right  to  say  to  her—  "  See ,  how  love  does  not  level 
the  proud  ,  but  raise  the  humble  I  "  Oh  ,  how  my  heart  swells 
within  me  I  —  Oh ,  what  glorious  Prophets  of  the  Future  are 
Youth  and  Hope  I 

Come  in. 


( Knock  at  the  door. ) 
waoow. 


{Enter  G  a  spar.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Welcome ,  Caspar ,  welcome.  Where  is  the  letter  ?  Why 
do  you  turn  away,  man?  where  is  the  letter?  — 

(  Gaspar  gives  him  one. ) 

This !  —  This  is  mine ,  the  one  I  entrusted  to  thee.  Dkist 
thou  not  leave  it  ? 

•  CASPAR. 

Yes  ,  I  left  it. 

MELNOTTE. 

My  own  verses  returned  to  me.  Nothing  else? 

CASPAR. 

Thou  will  be  proud  to  hear  how  thy  messenger  was  ho- 
noured. For  thy  sake ,  Melnotte ,  — y  have  borne  that  which 
no  Frenchman  can  bear  without  disgrace. 

MELNOTTE. 

Disgrace  ,  Gaspar  I  Disgrace  ! 

CASPAR.    . 

I  gave  thy  letter  to  the  porter,  who  passed  it  from  lackey 
to  lackev  till  it  reached  the  lady  if  was  meant  for. 


20  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  I. 

MELNOTTE. 

It  reached  her,  then  ;  —  you  are  sure  of  that?  It  reached 


her,  —  well ,  well 


CASPAR. 

It  reached  her,  and  was  returned  to  me  with  blows.  Dost 
hear,  Melnotte?  —  \Yith  blows!  Death!  are  we  slaves  still , 
that  we  are  to  be  thus  dealt  with ,  we  peasants? 

MELNOTTE. 

With  blows  ?  No ,  Gaspar,  no  *,  not  blows ! 

CASPAR. 

I  could  show  thee  the  marks  if  it  were  not  so  deep  a  shame 
to  bear  them.  The  lackey  w^ho  tossed  thy  letter  into  the  mire 
swore  that  his  lady  and  her  mother  never  were  so  insulted. 
What  could  thy  letter  contain  ,  Claude? 

MEL?roTTE  ( looking  o^'er  the  letter ). 

Not  a  line  that  a  serf  might  not  have  written  to  an  empress. 
No ,  not  one. 

CASPAR. 

They  promise  thee  the  sailie  greeting  they  gave  me ,  if  thou 
wilt  pass  that  way.  Shall  we  endure  this  ,  Claude? 
MELNOTTE  {wringing  Gaspafs  hand). 

Forgive  me,  the  fault  was  mine,  1  have  brought  this  on 
thee  \  I  will  not  forget  it  •,  thou  shalt  be  avenged !  The  heart- 
less insolence  I 

CASPAR. 

Thou  art  moved ,  Melnotte  •,  think  not  of  me  •,  I  would  go 
through  fire  and  water  to  serve  thee ;  but,  —  a  blow  I  It  is 
not  the  bruise  that  galls ,  —  it  is  the  blush,  Melnolte. 

MELNOTTE. 

Say,  what  message?  —  How  insulted?  —  W^herefore?  — 
What  the  offence  ? 

CASPAR. 

Did  you  not  write  to  Pauline  Deschappelles ,  the  daughter 
of  the  rich  merchant? 

MELNOTTE. 

Well?  — 

CASPAR. 

And  are  you  not  a  peasant  —  a  gardener's  son  ?  —  that  was 
the  offence.  Sleep  on  it ,  Melnotte.  Blows  to  a  French  citizen, 
blows  I  [Exit, 


SCENE  III.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  21 

WIDOW. 

Now  you  are  cured  ,  Claude ! 

MELNOTTE  {tearing  the  letter). 
So  do  I  scatter  her  image  to  the  winds  —  1  will  stop  her  in 
the  open  streets  — I  will  insult  her—  I  will  beat  her  menial 

ruffians  —  I  will 

{Turns  suddenly  to  Widow. ) 
Mother,  am  I  hump-backed  —  deformed  —  hideous  ? 

WIDOW\ 

You! 

MELNOTTE. 

A  coward  —  a  thief  —  a  liar  ? 

WIDOW, 

You! 

MELNOTTE. 

Or  a  dull  fool  —  a  vain ,  drivelling  ,  brainless  iiiiot? 

W^IDOW. 

No ,  no. 

3IELNOTTE. 

What  am  I  then  —  worse  than  all  these?  Why,  I  am  a 
peasant!  What  has  a  peasant  to  do  with  love?  Vain  Revolu- 
tions ,  why  lavish  your  cruelty  on  the  great?  Oh  that  we  — 
we ,  the  hewers  of  wood  and  draw^ers  of  water,  had  been 
swept  away,  so  that  the  proud  might  learn  what  the  world 

would  be  without  us !  — 

[Knock  at  the  door.) 

{Enter  Servant  from  the  Inn. ) 

SERVANT. 

A  letter  for  Citizen  Melnotte. 

MELNOTTE. 

A  letter!  from  her  perhaps  —  who  sent  thee  ? 

SERVANT. 

Why,  Monsieur  —  I  mean  Citizen  —  Beauseant ,  who  stops 
to  dine  at  the  Golden  Lion,  on  his  way  to  his  chateau. 

MELNOTTE. 

Beauseant !  —  (reads). 

"  Young  man  ,  I  know  thy  secret  —  thou  lovest  above  thy 
station  :  if  thou  hast  wit,  courage,  and  discretion,  I  can  secure 
to  thee  the  realization  of  thy  most  sanguine  hopes  •,  and  the 
sole  condition  I  ask  in  return  is ,  that  thou  shalt  be  steadfast  to 
thine  own  ends.  I  shall  demand  from  thee  a  solemn  oath  to 


22  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  ii. 

marry  her  whom  thou  lovest^  to  bear  her  to  thine  home  on 
thy  wedding  night.  I  am  serious  —  if  thou  would'st  learn 
more ,  lose  not  a  moment ,  but  follow  the  bearer  of  this  letter 
to  thy  friend  and  patron , 

''  Charles  Beauseant." 

melnotte. 

Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  Are  our  own  passions  the  sorcerers 
that  raise  up  for  us  spirits  of  good  or  evil  ?  I  will  go  instantly. 

WIDOW. 

What  is  this ,  Claude  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

"  Marry  her  whom  thou  lovest"  —  '*  bear  her  to  thine  own 
home  "  —  O ,  revenge.and  love  I  which  of  you  is  the  strongest? 
—  {gazing  on  the  picture)  Sweet  face  ,  thou  smilest  on  me 
from  the  canvas  :  weak  fool  that  I  am ,  do  I  then  love  her  still? 
jXo,  it  is  the  vision  of  my  own  romance  that  I  have  worshipped : 
it  is  the  reality  to  which  I  bring  scorn  for  scorn.  —  Adieu , 
mother^  I  will  return  anon.  My  brain  reels — the  earth  swims 
before  me ,  —  {looks  again  at  the  letter)  —  Pso ,  it  is  not  a 
mockery :  I  do  not  dream !  lExit. 

END    OF    ACT    I. 


ACT  II. 

SCENE  I. 

The  Gardens  of  M.  Deschappelles'  House,  at  Lyons  — 
the  House  seen  at  the  back  of  the  Stage. 

{Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Well ,  what  think  you  of  my  plot  ?  Has  it  not  succeeded  to 
a  miracle?  The  instant  that  I  introduced  His  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Como  to  the  pompous  mother  and  the  scornful 
daughter,  it  was  all  over  with  them  :  he  came — he  saw — he 
conquered  :  and,  though  it  is  not  many  days  since  he  arrived, 
they  have  already  promised  him  the  hand  of  Pauline. 

GLAVIS. 

It  is  lucky,  though ,  that  you  told  them  his  Highness  tra- 


SCESEl.]  OR    LOVE    A>D    PRIDE.  23 

veiled  incognito ,  lor  fear  the  Directory  ( who  are  not  very 
fond  of  princes)  should  lay  him  by  the  heels;  for  he  has  a 
wonderful  wish  to  keep  up  his  rank ,  and  scatters  our  gold 
about  with  as  much  coolness  as  if  he  were  watering  his  own 
flower-pots.  , 

BEAUSEANT. 

True,  he  is  damnably  extravagant;  I  think  the  sly  dog 
does  it  out  of  malice.  However,  it  must  be  owned  that  he 
reflects  credit  on  his  loyal  subjects ,  and  makes  a  very  pretty 
figure  in  his  One  clothes,  with  my  diamond  snuff-box  — 

GLAVIS. 

And  my  diamond  ring  I  But  do  you  think  he  will  be  firm 
to  the  last?  I  fancy  I  see  symptoms  of  relenting  :  he  will 
never  keep  up  his  rank ,  if  he  once  let  out  his  conscience. 

BEAUSEA^T. 

His  oath  binds  him  •,  he  cannot  retract  without  being  for- 
sw^orn ,  and  those  low  fellows  are  always  superstitious !  But , 
as  it  is ,  I  tremble  lest  he  be  discovered  :  that  bluff  Colonel 
Damas  (madame  Deschappelles'  cousin)  evidently  suspects 
him  I  we  must  make  haste  and  conclude  the  farce  :  I  have 
thought  of  a  plan  to  end  it  this  very  day. 

GLAVIS. 

This  very  day  I  Poor  Pauline !  her  dream  will  be  soon  oyer. 

BEAUSEA>T. 

Yes,  this  day  they  shall  be  married  I  this  evening ,  accord- 
ing to  his  oath  ,  he  shall  carry  his  bride  to  the  Golden  Lion , 
and  then  pomp  ,  equipage ,  retinue ,  and  title ,  all  shall  vanish 
at  once  •,  and  her  Highness  the  Princess  shall  find  that  she  has 
refused  the  son  of  a  Marquis  ,•  to  marry  the  son  of  a  Gar- 
dener. —  Oh ,  Pauline !  once  loved  ,  now  hated ,  yet  still  not 
relinquished,  thou  shalt  drain  the  cup  to  the  dregs,  thou 
shalt  know  w^hat  it  is  to  be  humbled  I 

(Enter,  from  the  House,  Melnotte  as  the  Prince  of  Coma, 
leading  in  Pauline-,  Madame  Deschappelles ,  fanning 
herself-,  and  Colonel  Damas.) 

{Beauseant  and  Glavis  bow  respectfully.  Pauline  and 
Melnotte  walk  apart. ) 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Good  morning,  gentlemen;  really  I  am  so  fatigued  with 
laughter ;  the  dear  Prince  is  so  entertaining.  What  wit  \w 


24  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  ii. 

has !  Any  one  may  see  that  he  has  spent  his  whole  hfe  in 
courts. 

DA  MAS. 

And  what  the  deuce  do  you  know  about  courts,  cousin 
Deschappelles  ?,  You  women  regard  men  just  as  you  buy 
books  —  you  never  care  what  is  in  them  ,  but  how  they  are 
bound  and  lettered.  S'death,  I  don't  think  you  would  even 
look  at  your  Bible  if  it  had  not  a  title  to  it. 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

How  coarse  you  are ,  cousin  Damas !  —  quite  the  manners 
of  a  barrack  —  you  don't  deserve  to  be  one  of  our  family  5 
really  we  must  drop  your  acquaintance  when  Pauline  marries. 
I  cannot  patronise  any  relation  that  would  discredit  my  future 
son-in-law  the  Prince  of  Como. 

MELNOTTE  [advancing]. 

These  are  beautiful  gardens ,  Madame ,  —  {Beauseant  and 
Glavis  retire]  — who  planned  them? 

.MADAME    DESCHAP. 

A  gardener  named  Melnotte  ,  your  Highness  — an  honest 
man  who  knew  his  station.  I  can't  say  as  much  for  his  son  — 
a  presuming  fellow,  who  — ha  I  hal  — actually  wrote  verses 
—  such  doggrei:  to  my  daughter. 

PAULINE. 

Yes  — how  you  would  have  laughed  at  them,  Prince!  — 
y(Ju  who  write  such  beautiful  verses  I 

MELNOTTE. 

This  Melnotte  must  be  a  monstrous  impudent  person! 

DAMAS. 

Is  he  good-looking  ? 

3IADAME    DESCHAP. 

1  never  notice  such  canaille  — em  ugly,  mean-looking 
clown ,  if  I  remember  right. 

DA  MAS. 

Yet  I  heard  your  porter  say  he  was  wonderfully  like  his 
Highness. 

MELNOTTE  (taking  snuff). 
You  are  complimentary. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

For  shame ,  cousin  Damas !  —  like  the  Prince ,  indeed ! 


SCENE  I.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  25 

PAULINE. 

Like  you  I  Ah ,  mother,  like  our  beautiful  Prince  I  I'll 
never  speak  to  you  again ,  cousin  Damas. 

MELNOTTE    {ClSicle). 

Humph  I  —  rank  is  a  great  beautifier  I  I  never  passed  for 
an  Apollo  while  I  was  a  peasant-,  if  I  am  so  handsome  as  a 
prince  ,  what  should  I  be  as  an  emperor  ?  —  ( aloud ) 
Monsieur  Beauseant,  will  you  honour  me?  {offers  sjiuff,) 

BEALSEANT. 

No ,  your  Highness  •,  I  have  no  small  vices. 

MELNOTTE. 

\ay,  if  it  were  a  vice  you'd  be  sure  to  have  it,  Monsieur 
Beauseant. 

3IADAME    DESCHAP. 

Ha !  ha  I  —  how  very  severe  I  —  what  wit  I 

BEAUSEANT  [ui  CI  rage  and  aside). 
Curse  his  impertinence  I 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

What  a  superb  snuff-box  I 

PAULINE. 

And  what  a  beautiful  ring  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

You  like  the  box  —  a  tritle  —  interesting  perhaps  from 
associations  —  a  present  from  Louis  XIV.  to  my  great-great- 
grandmother.    Honour  me  by  accepting  it. 

BEAUSEANT  {pluckiug  Mm  by  the  slee^'e ). 
How  I  —  what  the  devil !  My  boy  —  are  you  mad?  It  is 
worth  five  hundred  louis. 

MELNOTTE  [unheeding  him,  and  turning  to  Pauline). 
And  you  like  this  ring?  Ah  ,  it  has  ,  indeed,  a  lustre  since 
your  eyes  have  shone  on  it  {placing  it  on  her  finger). 
Henceforth  hold  me ,  sweet  enchantress ,  the  Slave  of  the 
Ring. 

GLWis  {pulling  him). 
Stay ,  stay  —  what  are  you  about  ?  :\Iy  maiden  aunt's  legacy 
—  a  diamond  of  the  first  water.   You  shall  be  hanged  for 
swindUng  ,  Sir. 

MELNOTTE  {pretending  no  to  hear). 
It  is  curious  ,  this  ring  •,  it  is  the  one  with  which  m.y  grand- 
father, the  Doge  of  Venice,  married  the  Adriatic! 

{Madame  and  Pauline  examine  the  ring.) 


26  THE    L/VDY   OF   LYONS,  [act  ii. 

MELNOTTE  (toBcauseantand  Glavis). 
Fie ,  gentlemen  ,  princes  must  be  generous !  —  ( turns  to 
Damas ,  who  watches  them  closely.)  These  kind  friends 
have  my  interest  so  much  at  heart ,  that  they  are  as  careful 
of  my  property  as  if  it  were  their  own  I 

BEALSEANT  AND  GLAVIS    [COTlfusedly). 

Ha  !  ha  I  —  very  good  joke  that  I 

{Appear  to  remonstrate  with  Melnotte  in  dumb  show.) 

DAMAS. 

What's  all  that  whispering?  I  am  sure  there  is  some  juggle 
here^  hang  me,  if  I  think  he  is  an  Italian,  after  all.  Gad! 
ril  try  him.   Servitore  umilissimo,  Eccellenza  '. 

MELNOTTE. 

'Hum  —  what  does  he  mean ,  I  wonder  ? 

DA3IAS. 

Godo  di  vedervi  in  buona  salute  *. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hem  —  hem  I 

DAMAS. 

Fa  bel  tempo  —  che  si  dice  di  nuovo  ^  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Well ,  Sir ,  what's  all  that  gibberish  ? 

DAMAS. 

Oh  ,  oh  I  —  only  Italian  ,  your  Highness  I  —  The  Prince  of 
Como  does  not  understand  his  own  language  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Not  as  you  pronounce  it ,  —  who  the  deuce  could? 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Ha  I  ha  !  cousin  Damas ,  never  pretend  to  what  you  don't 
know. 

PAULINE. 

Ha  I  ha  I  cousin  Damas  •,  you  speak  Italian,  indeed!  {makes 
a  mocking  gesture  at  him.) 

BEAUSEANT  {tO  Glavis\. 

Clever  dog !  —  how  ready ! 

GLAVIS. 

Ready ,  yes  \  with  my  diamond  ring  !  —  Damn  his  rea- 
diness ! 

'  Your  Excellency's  most  humble  servant. 
'  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  good  health. 
3  Fine  weather:  W^hat  news  is  there? 


scoBi.]  OR    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  27 

DAMAS. 

Laugh  at  me !  —  laugh  at  a  Colonel  in  the  French  army  I 
—  The  fellow's  an  impostor  ^  I  know  he  is.  I'll  see  if  he 
understands  fighting  as  well  as  he  does  Italian.  —  (  Goes  up 
to  him ,  and  aside)  Sir  ,  you  are  a  jackanapes  I  — Can  you 
construe  that? 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  Sir  \  I  never  construe  affronts  in  the  presence  of  ladies  j 
hy-and-by  1  shall  be  happy  to  take  a  lesson  —  or  give  one. 

DAMAS. 

I'll  find  the  occasion  ,  never  fear  I 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

"SVhere  are  you  going ,  cousin  ? 

DAMAS. 

To  correct  my  Itahan.  iExit. 

BEAUSEANT    {tO  GlaKHS). 

Let  us  after ,  and  pacify  him  \  he  evidently  suspects  some- 
thing. 

GLAVIS. 

Yes  I  hut  my  diamond  ring  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  my  box  I  —  We  are  over-taxed ,  fellow-subject  I  — 
we  must  stop  the  supplies ,  and  dethrone  the  Prince  I 

GLAVIS. 

Prince  I  —  he  ought  to  be  heir  apparent  to  King  Stork  ! 

[Exeunt. 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

Dare  I  ask  your  Highness  to  forgive  my  cousin's  insuffer- 
able vulgarity? 

PAULINE, 

Oh ,  yes  I  -—  you  will  forgive  his  manner  for  the  sake  of  His 
heart. 

MELNOTTE. 

And  the  sake  of  his  cousin.  —  Ah  ,  ^Madame,  there  is  one 
comfort  in  rank ,  —  we  are  so  sure  of  our  position  that  we 
are  not  easily  affronted.  Besides  ,  M.  Damas  has  bought  the 
right  of  indulgence  from  his  friends  ,  by  never  showing  it  to 
his  enemies. 

PAULINE. 

Ah  I  he  is,  indeed,  as  brave  in  action  as  he  is  rude  in 


28  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  ii. 

speech.   He  rose  from  the  ranks  to  his  present  grade,  —  and 
in  two  years ! 

MELNOTTE. 

In  two  years !  —  two  years ,  did  you  say  ? 

MADAME    DESCHAP  {asidc), 

I  don't  like  leaving  girls  alone  with  their  lovers  ;  but ,  with 
a  prince ,  it  would  be  so  ill-bred  to  be  prudish.  [Exit. 

MELNOTTE. 

You  can  be  proud  of  your  connexion  with  one  who  owes 
his  position  to  merit ,  —  not  birth. 

PAULINE. 

Why  ,  yes  ^  but  still  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Still  what,  Pauline? 

PAULINE. 

There  is  something  glorious  in  the  Heritage  of  Command. 
A  man  who  has  ancestors  is  like  a  Representative  of  the 
Past. 

MELNOTTE. 

True  ^  but ,  like  other  representatives ,  nine  times  out  of 
ten  he  is  a  silent  member.  Ah ,  Pauline  I  not  to  the  Past ,  but 
to  the  Future ,  looks  true  nobility ,  and  finds  its  blazon  in 
posterity. 

PAULINE. 

You  say  this  to  please  me ,  who  have  no  ancestors  •,  but 
you.  Prince  ,  must  be  proud  of  so  illustrious  a  race  I 

3IELN0TTE. 

No ,  no !  I  would  not ,  were  I  fifty  times  a  prince ,  be  a 
pensioner  on  the  Dead  !  I  honour  birth  and  ancestry  w^hen 
they  are  regarded  as  the  incentives  to  exertion ,  not  the  title- 
deeds  to  sloth  I  I  honour  the  laurels  that  overshadow  the 
graves  of  our  fathers^  —  it  is  our  fathers  I  emulate,  when 
1  desire  that  beneath  the  evergreen  I  myself  have  planted  my 
own  ashes  may  repose  I  Dearest  I  could'st  thou  but  see  with 
my  eyes  I 

PAULINE. 

I  cannot  forego  pride  when  I  look  on  thee ,  and  think  that 
thou  lovest  me.  Sweet  Prince  ,  tell  me  again  of  thy  palace  by 
the  Lake  of  Como  5  it  is  so  pleasant  to  hear  of  thy  splendours 
since  thou  didst  swear  to  me  that  they  w^ould  be  desolate 
without  Pauline ;  and  when  thou  describest  them ,  it  is  with 


SCE.NB  I.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  29 

a  mocking  lip  and  a  noble  scorn  ,  as  if  custom  had  made  thee 
disdain  greatness. 

MELNOTTE. 

>'ay,  dearest ,  nay,  if  thou  would'st  have  me  paint 
The  home  to  which,  could  Love  fulfil  its  prayers , 
This  hand  would  lead  thee  ,  listen  I  ^  —a  deep  vale 
Shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world  ^ 
Near  a  clear  lake  ,  margined  by  fruits  of  gold 
And  whispering  myrtles  :  glassing  softest  skies 
As  cloudless ,  save  with  rare  and  roseate  shadows , 
As  I  would  have  thy  fate  ! 

PAULI>"E. 

My  own  dear  love  ! 

MEL>OTTE. 

A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 

Its  marble  walls ,  from  out  a  glossy  bower 

Of  coolest  foliage  musical  with  birds  , 

AVhose  songs  should  syllable  thy  name  I  At  noon 

We'd  sit  beneath  the  arching  vines  ,  and  wonder 

Why  Earth  could  be  unhappy,  while  the  Heavens 

Still  left  us  youth  and  love  I  We"d  have  no  friends 

That  were  not  lovers ;  no  ambition  ,  save 

To  excel  them  all  in  love  ^  we'd  read  no  books 

That  were  not  tales  of  love  — that  we  might  smile 

To  think  how  poorly  eloquence  of  words 

Translates  the  poetry  of  hearts  like  ours  I 

And  when  night  came ,  amidst  the  breathless  Heavens 

We'd  guess  wh.it  star  should  be  our  home  when  love 

Becomes  immortal ;  while  the  p^^rfumed  light 

Stole  through  the  mists  of  alabaster  lamps  , 

And  every  air  was  heavy  with  the  sighs 

Of  orange  groves  and  music  from  sweet  lutes , 

And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 

rthe  midst  of  roses  I  —  Lost  thou  like  the  picture  ? 


'  The  reader  will  observe  that  Melnolte  evades  the  request  of  Pauline.  He  proceed? 
to  describe  a  home,  which  he  does  not  say  he  possesses,  but  to  which  he  would  lead 
her.  '-could  Loi  e  fulfil  Us  prayers.'  This  caution  is  intended  as  a  reply  to  a  sagacious 
critic  who  censures  the  description,  because  it  is  not  an  exact  and  prosaic  inventory 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  Lake  of  Como :  —  "S\  hen  >h?Inotte .  for  instance .  talks  of 
birds  -that  syllable  the  name  of  Pauline,"  (  by  the  way  a  literal  translation  from  an 
Italian  poet,;  he  is  not  thinking  of  ornithology,  but  probably  of  the  Arabian  Mghts. 
He  is  venting  the  extravagant ,  but  natural  enthusiasm  of  the  Poet  and  the  Lover. 


30  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  ii. 

PAULINE. 

Oh  !  as  the  bee  upon  the  flower,  I  hang 
Upon  the  honey  of  thy  eloquent  tongue ! 
Am  I  not  blest?  And  if  I  love  too  ^Yildly, 
Who  would  not  love  thee  like  Pauline? 
MELNOTTE  {bitterly). 

Oh  ,  false  one ! 
It  is  the  prince  thou  lovest ,  not  the  man  ,• 
If  in  the  stead  of  luxury,  pomp,  and  power, 
I  had  painted  poverty,  and  toil,  and  care, 
Thou  hadst  found  no  honey  on  my  tongue  •,  —  Pauline  ,     . 
That  is  not  love  I 

PAULINE. 

Thou  wrong'st  me ,  cruel  Prince  I 
'Tis  true  I  might  not  at  the  first  been  won , 
Save  through  the  weakness  of  a  flattered  pride  •, 
But  now,  —  Oh  I  trust  me ,  —  could'st  thou  fall  from  power, 
And  sink 

MELNOTTE. 

As  low  as  that  poor  gardener's  son 
Who  dared  to  lift  his  eyes  to  thee. 

PAULINE. 

Even  then 
Methinks  thou  would'st  be  only  made  more  dear 
By  the  sweet  thought  that  I  could  prove  how  deep 
Is  woman's  love  I  We  are  like  insects ,  caught 
By  the  poor  glittering  of  a  garish  flame-, 
But ,  oh  ,  the  wings  once  scorched ,  —  the  brightest  star 
Lures  us  no  more  ^  and  .by  the  fatal  light 
We  cUng  till  death  I 

3IELN0TTE. 

Angel  I 

( Aside. )  O  conscience !  conscience ! 
It  must  not  be  ^  —  her  love  hath  grown  a  torture 
W^orse  than  her  hate.  I  will  at  once  to  Beauseant , 

And ha  I  he  comes Sweet  love,  one  moment  leave  me. 

I  have  business  with  these  gentlemen — I — I 
Will  forthwith  joint  you. 

PAULINE. 

Do  not  tarry  long  I  [Exit, 


scESEi.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  31 

{Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Release  me  from  my  oath,  — I  will  not  marry  her! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  thou  art  perjured. 

.31ELN0TTE. 

No ,  I  was  not  in  my  senses  when  I  swore  to  thee  to  marry 
her  I  I  was  blind  to  all  but  her  scorn  I  —  deaf  to  all  but  my 
passion  and  my  rage  I  Give  me  back  my  poverty  and  my 
honour ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

It  is  too  late ,  —  you  must  marry  her!  and  this  day.  I  have 
a  story  already  coined,  and  sure  to  pass  current.  This  Damas 
suspects  thee,  —  he  will  set  the  police  to  work;  — thou  wilt 
be  detected  —  Pauline  will  despise  and  execrate  thee.  Thou 
wilt  be  sent  to  the  common  gaol  as  a  swindler. 

MELNOTTE. 

Fiend! 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  in  the  heat  of  the  girl's  resentment  ( you  know  of  what 
resentment  is  capable )  and  the  parent's  shame ,  she  will  be 
induced  to  marry  the  first  that  offers  — even  perhaps  your 
humble  servant. 

MELNOTTE. 

You !  rso  \  that  were  worse  —  for  thou  hast  no  mercy  I  I 
will  marry  her  — I  will  keep  my  oath.  Quick,  then,  with 
the  damnable  invention  thou  art  hatching  •,  —  quick  ,  if  thou 
would'st  not  have  me  strangle  thee  or  myself. 

GLAVIS. 

What  a  tiger  I  Too  fierce  for  a  Prince  ;  he  ought  to  have 
been  the  Grand  Turk. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Enough  —  I  will  despatch  \,  be  prepared. 

^Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 

{Enter  Damas  with  two  swords.) 

DA3IA5. 

iS'ow,  then ,  Sir,  the  ladies  are  no  longer  your  excuse.  I 
have  brought  you  a  couple  of  dictionaries  \  let  us  see  if  your 
Highness  can  find  out  the  Latin  for  biVoo. 


32  THE    LADY    OF    LYONS  ,  [act  ii. 

MELNOTTE. 

Away,  Sir  I  — I  am  in  no  liumour  for  jesting. 

DAM  AS. 

I  see  you  understand  something  of  the  grammar :  you 
decline  the  noun  substantive  "  small  sword  "  with  great  ease  •, 
but  that  won't  do  —  you  must  take  a  lesson  in  parsing. 

MELNOTTE. 

Fool  I 

DAM  AS. 

Sir,  —  a  man  who  calls  me  a  fool  insults  the  lady  who  bore 
me  •,  there's  no  escape  for  you  —  fight  you  shall ,  or 

MELNOTTE. 

Oh  ,  enough  ,  enough  I  — take  your  ground. 

(  They  fight -^  Damas  is  disarmed.  —  Melnotte  takes  up 
the  sword  and  returns  it  to  Damas  respectfully. ) 
A  just  punishment  to  the  brave  soldier  who  robs  the  State  of 
its  best  property  —  the  sole  right  to  his  valour  and  his  life. 

DAMAS. 

Sir,  you  fence  exceedingly  well  \  you  must  be  a  man  of 
honour  —  I  don't  care  a  jot  whether  you  are  a  prince  \  but  a 
man  who  has  carte  and  tierce  at  his  fingers'  ends  must  be  a 
gentleman. 

31ELN0TTE  [aside). 

Gentleman  I  Ay,  I  was  a  gentleman  before  I  turned  conspi- 
rator ^  for  honest  men  are  the  gentlemen  of  Nature  I  Colonel , 
they  tell  me  you  rose  from  the  ranks. 

DAMAS. 

I  did. 

MELNOTTE. 

And  in  two  years  ? 

DAMAS. 

It  is  true-,  that's  no  wonder  in  our  army  at  present.  Why, 
the  oldest  general  in  the  service  is  scarcely  thirty,  and  we  have 
some  of  two-and-twenty. 

MELNOTTE. 

Two-and-twenty  I 

DAMAS. 

Yes  ^  in  the  French  army,  now-a-days,  promotion  is  not  a 
matter  of  purchase.  We  are  all  heroes  because  we  m.ay  be  all 
generals.  We  have  no  fear  of  the  cypress  because  we  may  all 
hope  for  the  laurel. 


SCE5KI.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  33 

3IEL>'0TTE. 

A  general  at  two-and-twenty  {turning  away). — Sir,  I 
may  ask  you  a  favour  one  of  these  days. 

0^31-^3-. 

Sir,  I  shall  be  proud  to  grant  it. —  It  is  astonishing  how 
much  I  like  a  man  after  I've  fought  with.— 

{Tildes  the  swords.) 
( Enter  Madame  and  Beauseant.  ) 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Oh ,  Prince !  —  Prince  I  —  What  do  I  hear  ?  You  must  fly, 
—  you  must  quit  us  I 

MEL>OTTE. 

I!  — 

BEAUSEANT. 

Yes,  Prince:  read  this  letter,  just  received  from  my  friend 
at  Paris ,  one  of  the  Directory  :  they  suspect  you  of  designs 
against  the  Republic ;  they  are  very  suspicious  of  princes , 
and  your  family  take  part  with  the  Austrians.  Knowing  that 
I  introduced  your  Highness  at  Lyons ,  my  friend  writes  to  me 
to  say  that  you  must  quit  the  town  immediately  or  you  will 
be  arrested,  —  thrown  into  prison,  —  perhaps  guillotined  I 
Fly  I  —  I  will  order  horses  to  your  carriage,  instantly.  Fly 
to  Marseilles  j  there  you  can  take  ship  to  Leghorn. 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

And  what's  to  become  of  Pauline?  Am  I  not  to  be  mother 
to  a  princess ,  after  all  ? 

{Enter  Pauline  and  3L  DescJiappelles.) 

Pauline  {throwing  herself  into  Melnotte's  arms). 
You  must  leave  us  I  — Leave  Pauline  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

Xot  a  moment  is  to  be  wasted. 

M0N5.  DESCHAP. 

I  will  go  to  the  magistrates  and  inquire — — 

BEAUSEANT. 

Then  he  is  lost^  the  magistrates,  hearing  he  is  suspected, 
will  order  his  arrest. 

MADAME  DESCHAP. 

And  I  shall  not  be  Princess  Dowager  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

Why  not?  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done  :  —send  for 


34  THE    LADY    OF   LYONS,  [act  1!. 

the  priest — let  the  marriage  take  place  at  once,  and  the 
Prince  carry  home  a  bride  I 

MELNOTTE. 

Impossible  I  — {aside)  Villain !  — I  know  not  what  I  say. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

What,  lose  my  child? 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  gain  a  Princess  I 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

Oh ,  Monsieur  Beauseant ,  you  are  so  very  kind ,  —  it  must 
be  so, — we  ought  not  to  be  selfish, —  m.y  daughter's  happiness 
is  at  stake.   She  will  go  away,  too,  in  a  carriage  and  six  I 

PAULL\E. 

Thou  art  here  still , — I  cannot  part  from  thee ,  —  my  heart 
will  break, 

MELNOTTE. 

But  thou  wilt  not  consent  to  this  hasty  union, —  thou  wilt 
not  wed  an  outcast  —  a  fugitive. 

PAULINE. 

Ah  I  If  thou  art  in  danger,  who  should  share  it  but  Pauline  ? 

3IELNOTTE  [aside). 
Distraction  I — If  the  earth  could  swallow  me  I 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Gently!  — gently !  The  settlements— the  contracts —  my 
daughter's  dowry ! 

MELNOTTE. 

The  dowry !  —I  am  not  base  enough  for  that  •,  no,  not  one 
farthing ! 

BEAUSEANT  [to  Madame). 

Noble  fellow  I  Really  your  good  husband  is  too  mercantile 
in  these  matters.  Monsieur  Deschappelles ,  you  hear  his 
Highness  :  we  can  arrange  the  settlements  by  proxy, — ^'tis 
the  way  with  people  of  quality. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

But 

MADA3IE   DESCHAP. 

Hold  your  tongue!  —  Don't  expose  yourself  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  will  bring  the  priest  in  a  trice.  Go  in  all  of  you  and  pre- 
pare; — the  carriage  shall  be  at  the  door  before  the  ceremony 
is  over. 


SCENE  1.1 


OR  LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  35 


3IADAME    DESCHAP. 

Be  sure  there  are  six  horses,  Beauseant  I  You  are  very  good 
to  have  forgiven  us  for  refusing  you  :  but ,  you  see— a  prince ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

And  such  a  prince !  Madame ,  I  cannot  blush  at  the  success 
of  so  illustrious  a  nval.— (aside)  Now  will  I  follow  them  to  the 
village  — enjoy  my  triumph ,  and  to-morrow  —  in  the  hour  of 
thy  shame  and  grief,  I  think ,  proud  girl ,  thou  wilt  prefer  even 
these  arms  to  those  of  the  gardener's  son.  [Exit Beauseant. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

Come,  Monsieur  Deschappelles  —  give  your  arm  to  her 
Highness  that  is  to  be. 

3I0NS.    DESCHAP. 

I  don't  like  doing  business  in  such  a  hurry  —  'tis  not  the 
way  with  the  house  of  Deschappelles  and  Co. 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

There,  now— you  fancy  you  are  in  the  counting-house  •— 
don't  you?  (pushes  him  to  Pauline). 

MELNOTTE. 

Stay,  -  stay,  Pauline  —  one  word.  Have  you  no  scruple- 
no  fear?   Speak  — it  is  not  yet  too  late. 

PAULINE. 

When  I  loved  thee  ,  thy  fate  became  mine.  Triumph  or 
danger— joy  or  sorrow— I  am  by  thy  side. 

DAMAS. 

Well ,  well ,  Prince^  thou  art  a  lucky  man  to  be  so  loved. 
She  is  a  good  little  girl  in  spite  of  her  foibles— make  her  as 
happy  as  if  she  were  not  to  be  a  princess  (slapping  him  on 
the  shoulder).  Come ,  Sir,  I  wish  you  joy  —  young  —  tender 
—  lovely  j  —  zounds  ,  I  envy  you ! 
MELNOTTE  (who  has  stood  apart  in  gloomy  abstraction). 

Do   YOU'? 

'  On  the  stage  the  following  lines  are  added  :  — 
'■'■  Do  you  ?  Wise  judges  are  we  of  each  other. 
"  "Woo ,  wed ,  and  bear  her  home : "  So  runs  the  bond 
To  which  I  sold  myself —  and  then  — what  then  :• 
Away  I  —  I  will  not  look  beyond  the  Hour. 
Like  children  in  the  dark,  I  dare  not  face 
The  shades  that  gather  round  me  in  the  distance. 
You  envy  me  —  I  thank  you  —  you  may  read 
My  joy  upon  my  brow-  I  thank  you,  Sir: 
If  hearts  had  audible  language,  you  would  hear 
How  mine  would  answer  when  you  talk  of  envri ! 

end'  of  act  ii. 


36  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  n/. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. 

The  Exterior  of  the  Golden  Lion  — time ,  twilight.  The 
moon  rises  during  the  Scene. 

{Enter  Landlord  and  his  Daughter  from  the  Inn.) 

LANDLORD. 

Ha — ha— ha !  Well ,  I  never  shall  get  over  it.  Our  Claude 
is  a  prince  with  a  vengeance  now.  His  carriage  breaks  down 
at  my  inn— ha — ha  ! 

JANET. 

And  what  airs  the  young  lady  gives  herself!  "Is  this  tb/5 
best  room  you  have ,  young  woman  ?  "  with  such  a  toss  of  the 
head! 

LANDLORD. 

Well,  get  in ,  Janet  \  get  in  and  see  to  the  supper  :  the  ser- 
vants must  sup  before  they  go  back. 

[  Exeunt  Landlord  and  Janet, 

{Enter  Beauseant  and  Glavis.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  see  our  Princess  is  lodged  at  last  —  one  stage  more , 
and  she'll  be  at  her  journey's  end  —  the  beautiful  palace  at  the 
foot  of  the  Alps !  —  ha  —  ha ! 

GLAVIS. 

Faith ,  I  pity  the  poor  Pauline  —  especially  if  she's  going  to 
sup  at  the  Golden  Lion  {makes  a  wry  face).  I  shall  never 
forget  that  cursed  ragout. 

{Enter  Melnotte  from  the  Inn.) 

BEAUSEANT. 

Your  servant ,  my  Prince  \  you  reigned  most  worthily.  I 
condole  with  you  on  your  abdication.  1  am  afraid  that  your 
Highness's  retinue  are  not  very  faithful  servants.  I  think  they 
will  quit  you  in  the  moment  of  your  fall — 'tis  the  fate  of  great- 
ness. But  you  are  welcome  to  your  fine  clothes  —  also  the 


scoEi.]  OR    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  37 

diamond  snuff-box ,  which  Louis  XIV.  gave  to  your  great- 
great-grandmother. 

GLWIS. 

And  the  ring ,  with  which  your  grandfather  the  Doge  of 
Venice  married  the  Adriatic. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  have  kept  my  oath,  gentlemen,  say  — have  I  kept  my 
oath  ?  •  .     ■ 

BEAUSEANT.  ^ 

Most  religiously. 

MELNOTTE. 

Then  you  have  done  with  me  and  mine  —  away  with  you  1 

BEAUSEANT. 

How%  knave? 

MELNOTTE. 

Look  you,  our  bond  is  over.  Proud  conquerors  that  we 
are ,  we  have  won  the  victory  over  a  simple  girl  —  compro- 
mised her  honour  —  embittered  her  life  — blasted ,  in  their 
very  blossoms ,  all  the  flowers  of  her  youth.  This  is  your 
triumph  ,  — it  is  my  shame  I  [J^urns  to  Beauseant.)  Enjoy 
that  triumph ,  but  not  in  my  sight.  1  was  her  betrayer  —  I 
am  her  protector  I  Cross  but  her  path  — one  word  of  scorn, 
one  look  of  insult  —  nay,  but  one  quiver  of  that  mocking  lip  , 
and  I  will  teach  thee  that  bitter  word  thou  hast  graved  eter- 
nally in  this  heart  —  Repentance  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

His  Highness  is  most  grandiloquent. 

MELNOTTE. 

Highness  me  no  more.  Beware  I  Remorse  has  made  me  a 
new  being.  Away  with  you  I  There  is  danger  in  me.  Away  I 
GLAvis  [aside). 

He's  an  awkward  fellow  to  deal  with  :  come  away,  Beau- 
seant. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  know  the  respect  due  to  rank.  Adieu ,  my  Prince.  Any 
commands  at  Lyons  ?  Yet  hold  —  I  promised  you  200  louis 
on  your  wedding-day  •,  here  they  are. 

MELNOTTE  [dashing  the  purse  to  the  ground). 

I  gave  you  revenge ,  I  did  not  sell  it.  Take  up  your  silver , 
Judas  ^  take  it.  Ay,  it  is  fit  you  should  learn  to  stoop. 


38  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  iii. 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  will  beg  my  pardon  for  this  some  day.  {Aside  to  Gla- 
vis.)  Come  to  my  chateau  —  I  shall  return  hither  to-morrow, 
to  learn  how  Pauline  likes  her  new  dignity. 
melnotte. 

Are  you  not  gone  yet? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Your  Highness's  ij^ost  obedient ,  most  faithful— 
glayis.  ^ 

And  most  humife  servants.  Ha  I*  ha  I 

[  Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Glavis. 
melnotte. 

Thank  Heaven ,  I  had  no  weapon ,  or  I  should  have  slain 
them.  Wretch  I  what  can  I  say?  Where  turn?  On  all  sides 
mockery  —  the  very  boors  within  —  {Laughter  from  the 
inn.)  —  'Sdeath,  if  even  in  this  short  absence  the  exposure 
should  have  chanced.  I  will  call  her.  W^e  will  go  hence ,  I 
have  already  sent  one  I  can  trust  to  my  mother's  house.  There 
at  least  none  can  insult  her  agony  —  gloat  upon  her  shame  I 
There  alone  must  she  learn  what  a  villain  she  has  sworn  to 
iove.  • 

( As  he  turns  to  the  door,  enter  Pauline  from  the  Irm.) 

paullne. 
Ah,  my  Lord,  what  a  place  I  I  never  saw  such  rude  people. 
They  stare  and  wink  so.  I  think  the  very  sight  of  a  prince , 
though  he  travels  incognito,  turns  their  honest  heads.  What 
a  pity  the  carriage  should  break  down  in  such  a  spot !  You 
are  not  well  —  the  drops  stand  on  your  brow  —  your  hand  is 
feverish. 

melnotte. 
Nay,  it  is  but  a  passing  spasm  •,  the  air— 

PAULINE. 

Is  not  the  soft  air  of  your  native  south. 
How  pale  he  is !  —  indeed  thou  art  not  well. 
Where  are  our  people?  I  will  call  them. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hold! 
I  —  I  am  well. 

PAULINE. 

Thou  art !  —  Ah  I  now  I  know  it. 


SCENE  I.]  OR    LOVE    A>D    PRIDE.  39 

Thou  fanciest ,  my  kind  Lord  — I  know  thou  dost— 
Tliou  fanciest  these  rude  walls ,  these  rustic  gossips , 
Brick'd  floors ,  sour  wine  ,  coarse  viands ,  vex  Pauline  5 
And  so  they  might,  but  thou  art  by  my  side , 
And  I  forget  all  else ! 

{Enter  Landlord,  the  servants  peeping  and  laughing 
over  his  shoulder. ) 

LANDLORD. 

My  lord — your  Highness  — 
Will  your  most  noble  Excellency  choose  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Begone ,  Sir  I  [Exit  Landlord,  laughing. 

PAULINE. 

How  could  they  have  learn' d  thy  rank? 
One's  servants  are  so  vain  I  —  nay  ,  let  it  not 
Chafe  thee ,  sweet  Prince  I  —  a  few  short  days ,  and  we 
Shall  see  thy  palace  by  its  lake  of  silver, 
And — nay ,  nay  ,  Spendthrift ,  is  thy  wealth  of  smiles 
Already  drained ,  or  dost  thou  play  the  mjser  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Thine  eyes  would  call  up  smiles  in  deserts ,  fair  one. 
Let  us  escape  these  rustics.   Close  at  hand 
There  is  a  cot ,  where  I  have  bid  prepare 
Our  evening  lodgment  —  a  rude ,  homely  roof , 
But  honest ,  where  our  welcome  will  not  be 
Made  torture  by  the  vulgar  eyes  and  tongues 
That  are  as  death  to  Love  I    A  heavenly  night  1 
The  wooing  air  and  the  soft  moon  invite  us. 
Wilt  walk  1 1  pray  thee  ,  now ,  —  I  know  the  path , 
Ay ,  every  inch  of  it ! 

PAULINE. 

^Vhat ,  thou  I  methought 
Thou  wert  a  stranger  in  these  parts.  Ah !  truant , 
Some  village  beauty  lured  thee  •,  —  thou  art  now 
Grown  constant. 

MELNOTTE. 

Trust  me. 

PAULINE. 

Princes  are  so  changeful ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Come,  dearest,  come. 


40  THE   LADY  OF  LYONS,  [act  in. 

PAULINE. 

Shall  I  not  call  our  people 
To  light  us? 

MELNOTTE. 

Heaven  will  lend  its  stars  for  torches  I 
It  is  not  far. 

PAULL\E. 

The  night  breeze  chills  me. 

MELNOTTE. 

Nay. 
Let  me  thus  mantle  thee  ^— it  is  not  cold. 

PAULL\E. 

Never  beneath  thy  smile  I 

MELNOTTE  {aside). 

Oh ,  Heaven  I  forgive  me !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n. 

Melnotte's  cottage  —  Widow  bustling  about— A  table 
spread  for  supper. 

WIDOW. 

So ,  I  think  that  looks  very  neat.  He  sent  me  a  line,  so 
blotted  that  I  can  scarcely  read  it ,  to  say  he  would  be  here 
almost  immediately.  She  must  have  loved  him  well ,  indeed , 
to  have  forgotten  his  birth  •,  for  though  he  was  introduced  to 
her  in  disguise ,  he  is  too  honourable  not  to  have  revealed  to 
her  the  artifice  which  her  love  only  could  forgive.  Well,  I  do 
not  wonder  at  it ;  for  though  my  son  is  not  a  prince  ,  he  ought 
to  be  one,  and  that's  almost  as  good.  {Knock  at  the  door.) 
Ah  I  here  they  are. 

{Enter  Melnotte  and  Pauline.) 

WIDOW. 

Oh  ,  my  boy  —  the  pride  of  m.y  heart  I — welcome,  welcome  1 
I  beg  pardon  ,  Ma'am  ,  but  I  do  love  him  so  ! 

PAULINE. 

Good  woman ,  I  really — why,  Prince,  what  is  this?  —  does 
the  old  lady  know  you?  Oh ,  I  guess,  you  have  done  her  som.*^ 
service  :  another  proof  of  your  kind  heart ,  is  it  not  ? 

MELNOTTE, 

Of  mv  kind  heart,  avi 


scENKii.]  OR   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  41 

PAULINE. 

So  you  know  the  Prince? 

WIDOW. 

Know  him  ,  Madam?  — ah,  I  begin  to  fear  it  is  you  who 
know  him  not! 

PAULINE. 

Do  you  think  she  is  mad?  Can  we  stay  here ,  my  Lord?  I 
think  there's  something  very  wild  about  her. 

MELNOTTE. 

Madam ,  I  —  no  ,  I  can  not  tell  her,  my  knees  knock  to- 
gether :  what  a  coward  is  a  man  who  has  lost  his  honour ! 
Speak  to  her— speak  to  her  (to  his  Mother)^ie\\  her  that— 
Oh ,  Heaven ,  that  I  were  dead ! 

PAULINE. 

How  confused  he  looks !— this  strange  place— this  woman 
—what  can  it  mean?— I  half  suspect  — who  are  you,  ma- 
dam?—who  are  you?  can't  you  speak?  are  you  struck  dumb? 

WIDOW. 

Claude,  you  have  not  deceived  her?— Ah,  shame  upon 
you !  I  thought  that ,  before  you  went  to  the  altar,  she  was 
to  have  known  all. 

PAULINE. 

All !  what  ?  My  blood  freezes  in  my  veins  I 

WIDOW. 

Poor  lady ! — dare  I  tell  her,  Claude  ? 

{Melnotte  makes  a  sign  of  assent.) 

Know  you  not  then,  Madam,  that  this  young  man  is  of  poor 
though  honest  parents?  Know  you  not  that  you  are  wedded 
to  my  son  ,  Claude  Melnotte  ? 

PAULINE. 

Your  son  I  hold— hold !  do  not  speak  to  mQ— {approaches 
Melnotte,  and  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm)  Is  this  a  jest?  is 
it?  I  know  it  is,  only  speak— one  word— one  look— one  smile. 
I  cannot  believe— I  who  loved  thee  so— I  cannot  believe  that 

thou  art  such  a No,  I  will  not  wrong  thee  by  a  harsh  word 

— speak ! 

MELNOTTE. 

Leave  us— have  pity  on  her,  on  me  :  leave  us. 


42  THE   LADY   OF   LYOIVS,  [act  in. 

WIDOW. 

Oh  ,  Claude ,  that  I  should  live  to  see  thee  bowed  by  shame! 
thee  of  whom  I  was  so  proud ! 

lExit  Widow  by  the  staircase. 

PAULINE. 

Her  son — her  son — 

MELNOTTE. 

Now,  lady,  hear  me. 

PAULINE. 

Hear  thee ! 
Ay,  speak— her  son !  have  fiends  a  parent  ?  speak , 
That  thou  may'st  silence  curses— speak  I 

MELNOTTE. 

No,  curse  me  : 
Thy  curse  would  blast  me  less  than  thy  forgiveness. 
PAULINE  (laughing  wildly). 
"  This  is  thy  palace,  where  the  perfumed  light 
"  Steals  through  the  mist  of  alabaster  lamps, 
^'  And  every  air  is  heavy  with  the  sighs 
"  Of  orange  groves ,  and  music  from  sweet  lutes , 
*'  And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  ,  that  gush  forth 
"  r  the  midst  of  roses!  Dost  thou  like  the  picture?" 
This  is  my  bridal  home ,  and  thou  my  bridegroom  ! 

0  fool— O  dupe  — O  wretch  ! — I  see  it  all— 
The  bye-word  and  the  jeer  of  every  tongue 
In  Lyons.   Hast  thou  in  thy  heart  one  touch 
Of  human  kindness?  if  thou  hast,  why,  kill  me , 
And  save  thy  wife  from  madness.  No ,  it  cannot— 
It  cannot  be  :  this  is  some  horrid  dream  : 

1  shall  w^ake  soon. — (touching him)  i\rt  flesh?  art  man?  or 
The  shadows  seen  in  sleep  ? — It  is  too  real.  [but 
What  have  I  done  to  thee?  how  sinn'd  against  thee , 

That  thou  should'st  crush  me  thus  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Pauline,  by  pride 
Angels  have  fallen  ere  thy  time  :  by  pride — 
That  sole  alloy  of  thy  most  lovely  mould— 
The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  love  , 
And  a  revengeful  heart,  had  power  upon  thee. — 
From  my  first  years ,  my  soul  was  fiU'd  with  thee  : 


OR    LOVE    A.ND    PRIDE. 


43 


I  saw  thee  midst  the  flowTS  the  lowly  boy 
Tended  ,  unmark'd  by  thee— a  spirit  of  bloom. 
And  joy,  and  freshness ,  as  if  Spring  itself 
Were  made  a  living  thing ,  and  wore  thy  shape  I 
I  saw  thee ,  and  the  passionate  heart  of  man 
Enter'd  the  breast  of  the  wild-dreaming  boy  ; 
And  from  that  hour  I  grew— what  to  the  last 
I  shall  be— thine  adorer !  Well  ^  this  love , 
Vain  ,  frantic  ,  guilty ,  if  thou  wilt ,  became 
A  fountain  of  ambition  and  bright  hope ; 
1  thought  of  tales  that  by  the  winter  hearth 
Old  gossips  tell— how  maidens  sprung  from  Rings 
Have  stoop"d  from  their  high  sphere  -,  how  Love,  like  Death 
Levels  all  ranks,  and  lays  the  shepherd's  crook 
Beside  the  sceptre.  Thus  I  made  my  home 
In  the  soft  palace  of  a  fairy  Future  I 
My  father  died  :  and  I,  the  peasant-born  , 
Was  my  own  lord.  Then  did  I  seek  to  rise 
Out  of  the  prison  of  my  mean  estate; 
And ,  with  such  jewels  as  the  exploring  ]Mind 
Brings  from  the  caves  of  Knowledge ,  buy  my  ransom 
From  those  twin  gaolers  of  the  daring  heart- 
Low  Birth  and  iron  Fortune.    Thy  bright  image, 
Glass'd  in  my  soul ,  took  all  the  hues  of  glory, 
x\nd  lured  me  on  to  those  inspiring  toils 
By  which  man  masters  men  I  For  thee  I  grew 
A  midnight  student  o'er  the  dreams  of  sages  I 
For  thee  I  sought  to  borrow  from  each  Grace, 
And  every  Muse ,  such  attributes  as  lend 
Ideal  charms  to  Love.  I  thought  of  thee , 
And  Passion  taught  me  poesy— of  thee  , 
And  on  the  painter"s  canvas  grew  the  life 
Of  beauty  I — Art  became  the  shadow 
Of  the  dear  starlight  of  thy  haunting  eyes  I 
Men  call'd  me  vain— some  mad— I  heeded  not  ^ 
But  still  toiled  on— hoped  on— for  it  was  sweet , 
If  not  to  win  ,  to  feel  more  worthy  thee ! 

PAULINE. 

Has  he  a  magic  to  exorcise  hate? 

MELINOTTE. 

At  last ,  in  one  mad  hour,  I  dared  to  pour 


44  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  iii. 

The  thoughts  that  burst  their  channels  into  song  , 
And  sent  them  to  thee — such  a  tribute ,  lady, 
As  beauty  rarely  scorns ,  even  from  the  meanest. 
The  name — appended  by  the  burning  heart 
That  long'd  to  show  its  idol  what  bright  things 
It  had  created — yea,  the  enthusiast's  name, 
That  should  have  been  thy  triumph ,  was  thy  scorn ! 
That  very  hour — when  passion  ,  turned  to  wrath, 
Resembled  hatred  most— when  thy  disdain 
Made  my  whole  soul  a  chaos— in  that  hour 
The  tempters  found  me  a  revengeful  tool 
For  their  revenge !  Thou  hadst  trampled  on  the  worm- 
It  turn'd  and  stung  thee ! 

PAULINE. 

Love ,  Sir,  hath  no  sting. 
What  was  the  slight  of  a  poor  powerless  girl 
To  the  deep  wrong  of  this  most  vile  revenge? 
Oh,  how  I  loved  this  man  I — a  serf  I — a  slave  I 

MELNOTTE. 

Hold ,  lady !— No ,  not  slave !  Despair  is  free  I 
I  will  not  tell  thee  of  the  throes— the  struggles— 
The  anguish — the  remorse  :  No — let  it  pass  I 
And  let  me  come  to  such  most  poor  atonement 

Yet  in  my  power.  Pauline! 

(Approaching  her  with  great  emotion ,  and  about  to 
take  her  hand.) 

PAULINE. 

No ,  touch  me  not ! 
1  know  my  fate.  You  are ,  by  law,  my  tyrant  ^ 
And  I— oh  Heaven  ! — a  peasant's  wife!  I'll  work- 
Toil — drudge— do  what  thou  wilt — but  touch  me  not  ^ 
Let  my  wrongs  make  me  sacred  I 

MELNOTTE. 

Dot  not  fear  me. 
Thou  dost  not  know  me  ,  Madam  :  at  the  altar 
My  vengeance  ceased — my  guilty  oath  expired  I 
Henceforth ,  no  image  of  some  marble  saint , 
Nich'd  in  cathedral  aisles ,  is  hallow'd  more 
From  the  rude  hand  of  sacrilegious  wrong. 
I  am  thy  husband— nay,  thou  need'st  not  shudder,— 
Here,  at  thy  feet,  I  lay  a  husband's  rights. 


SCENE  11.]  OR    LOVE    AIND    PRIDE.  45 

A  marriage  thus  unholy — unfulfilled  — 

A  bond  of  fraud — is  ,  by  the  laws  of  France , 

Made  void  and  null.  To-night  sleep — sleep  in  peace. 

To-morrow,  pure  and  virgin  as  this  morn 

1  bore  thee ,  bathed  in  blushes ,  from  the  shrine , 

Thy  father's  arms  shall  take  thee  to  thy  home. 

The  law  shall  do  thee  justice,  and  restore 

Thy  right  to  bless  another  with  thy  love. 

And  when  thou  art  happy,  and  hast  half  forgot 

Him  who  so  loved — so  wrong'd  thee,  think  at  least 

Heaven  left  some  remnant  of  the  angel  still 

In  that  poor  peasant's  nature  I 

Ho  I  my  mother  I 

{Enter  Widow.) 

Conduct  this  lady — 'she  is  not  my  wife  \ 

She  is  our  guest , — our  honour"d  guest ,  my  mother  I ) — 

To  the  poor  chamber,  where  the  sleep  of  virtue , 

Never,  beneath  my  father's  honest  roof, 

Ev'n  villains  dared  to  mar  I  Now,  lady,  now, 

I  think  thou  wilt  believe  me. — Go ,  my  mother  I 

WIDOW. 

She  is  not  thy  wife  !— 

MELXOTTE. 

Hush !  hush !  for  mercy's  sake  I 
Speak  not,  but  go. 

(  Widow  ascends  the  stairs  ,•  Pauline  follows,  weeping 
— turns  to  look  back.) 

3Ie;l>otte  {sinking  down). 

All  angels  bless  and  guard  her  I 


END    OF    ACT    III, 


46  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS ,  [act  IV. 

ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I. 

The  Cottage  as  before — Melnotte  seated  before  a  table  — 
writing  implements,  etc.  —  {Day  breaking,) 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush ,  hush !  —  she  sleeps  at  last  I  —  thank  Heaven  ,  for 
awhile ,  she  forgets  even  that  I  Uve !  Her  sobs ,  which  have 
gone  to  my  heart  the  whole,  long,  desolate  night,  have 
ceased !  —  all  calm —  all  still  I  I  will  go  now  ^  I  will  send  this 
letter  to  Pauline's  father  —  when  he  arrives ,  I  will  place  in 
his  hands  my  own  consent  to  the  divorce,  and  then,  O  France, 
my  country!  accept  among  thy  protectors,  thy  defenders  — 
the  Peasant's  Son  I  Our  country  is  less  proud  than  Custom , 
and  does  not  refuse  the  blood ,  the  heart ,  the  right  hand  of 
the  poor  man  I 

{Enter  Widow.) 

WIDOW. 

My  son ,  thou  hast  acted  ill ,  but  sin  brings  its  own  punish- 
ment. In  the  hour  of  thy  remorse ,  it  is  not  for  a  mother  to 
reproach  thee  I 

MELNOTTE. 

What  is  past  is  past.  There  is  a  future  left  to  all  men,  who 
have  the  virtue  to  repent  and  the  energy  to  atone.  Thou  shalt 
be  proud  of  thy  son ,  yet.  Meanwhile ,  remember  this  poor 
lady  has  been  grievously  injured.  For  the  sake  of  thy  son's 
conscience,  respect,  honour,  bear  with  her.  If  she  weep, 
console  —  if  she  chide  ,  be  silent  I  '  Tis  but  a  little  while  more 
— I  shall  send  an  express  fast  as  horse  can  speed  to  her  father. 
Farewell  I  ~  I  shall  return  shortly. 

WIDOW. 

It  is  the  only  course  left  to  thee  —  thou  wert  led  astray,  but 
thou  art  not  hardened.  Thy  heart  is  right  still ,  as  ever  it 
was ,  when  in  thy  most  ambitious  hopes ,  thou  wert  never 
ashamed  of  thy  poor  mother  I 


SCENE  1.]  OR   LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  47 

MELNOTTE. 

Ashamed  of  thee !  —  No ,  if  I  yet  endure ,  yet  live ,  yet  hope 
—  it  is  only  because  I  would  not  die  till  I  have  redeemed  the 
noble  heritage  I  have  lost  — the  heritage  I  took  unstained 
from  thee  and  my  dead  father  —  a  proud  conscience  and  an 
honest  name.  I  shall  win  them  back  yet  —  Heaven  bless  you  I 

iExit. 

WIDOW. 

:\Iy  dear  Claude  I  —  How  my  heart  bleeds  for  him  I 
{Pauline  looks  down  from  above,  and  after  a  pause 
descends. ) 

PAULINE. 

Not  here  I  —  he  spares  me  that  pain  at  least :  so  far  he  is 
considerate  —  yet  the  place  seems  still  more  desolate  without 
him.  Oh  ,  that  I  could  hate  him  -  the  gardener's  son  I  —and 
yet  how  nobly  he  —  no  —  no  — no ,  I  will  not  be  so  mean  a 
thing  as  to  forgive  him  I 

WIDOW. 

Good  morning ,  Madam  ^  I  would  have  waited  on  you  if  I 
had  known  you  wTre  stirring. 

PAULINE. 

It  is  no  matter,  Ma'am  — your  son's  wife  ought  to  wait  on 
herself. 

WIDOW. 

My  son's  wife  —  let  not  that  thought  vex  you ,  Madam  — 
he  tells  me  that  you  will  have  your  divorce.  And  I  hope  I 
shall  live  to  see  him  smile  again.  There  are  maidens  in  this 
village,  young  and  fair,  Madam,  who  may  yet  console  him. 

PAULINE. 

I  dare  say  -  they  are  very  welcome  —  and  when  the  di- 
vorce is  got ,  he  will  marry  again.   I  am  sure  I  hope  so 

{weeps). 

WIDOW. 

He  could  have  married  the  richest  girl  in  the  province,  if 
he  had  pleased  it  •,  but  his  head  was  turned ,  poor  child  I  — 
he  could  think  of  nothing  but  you  {weeps). 

PAULINE. 

Don't  weep  ,  mother  I 

WIDOW. 

Ah  ,  he  has  behaved  very  ill,  I  know  — but  love  is  so  head- 
strong in  the  young.  Don't  weep,  Madam. 


48  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS  ,  [act  iv. 

PAULINE. 

So,  as  you  were  saying — go  on. 

WIDOW. 

Oh ,  I  cannot  excuse  him ,  Ma'am  —he  was  not  in  his  right 
senses. 

PAULINE. 

But  he  always  —  always  {sobbing)  loved  —  loved  me  then. 

WIDOW. 

He  thought  of  nothing  else  —  see  here  —  he  learnt  to  paint 
that  he  might  take  your  likeness  ( uncovers  the  picture).  But 
that's  all  over  now  —  I  trust  you  have  cured  him  of  his  folly 

—  but,  dear  heart,  you  have  had  no  breakfast ! 

PAULINE. 

I  can't  take  anything  —  don't  trouble  yourself. 

WIDOW'. 

Nay,  Madam,  be  persuaded  ^  a  little  coffee  will  refresh  you. 
Our  milk  and  eggs  are  excellent. '  I  will  get  out  Claude's  coffee 
cup  —  it  is  of  real  Sevres  ^  he  saved  up  all  his  money  to  buy 
it  three  years  ago,  because  the  name  of  Pauline  was  inscribed 
on  it. 

PAULINE. 

Three  years  ago!  Poor  Claude!  Thank  you.  I  think  I 
will  have  some  coffee.  Oh !  if  he  were  but  a  poor  gentleman , 
even  a  merchant :  but  a  gardener's  son  —  and  what  a  home ! 

—  Oh  no,  it  is  too  dreadful ! 

(  They  seat  themselves  at  the  table —  Bjeauseant  opens  the 
lattice  and  looks  in. ) 

BEAUSEANT. 

So  —  so  —  the  coast  is  clear !  I  saw  Claude  in  the  lane  —  1 
shall  have  an  excellent  opportunity. 

( Shuts  the  lattice,  and  knocks  at  the  door. ) 

PAULINE  {starting). 
Can  it  be  my  father?  —  he  has  not  sent  for  him  yet  ?  No  , 
he  cannot  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me? 

WIDOW. 

It  is  not  time  for  your  father  to  arrive  yet  •,  it  must  be  some 
neighbour. 

PAULINE. 

Don't  admit  any  one. 


SCENE  I.]  OR   LOVE   AND  PRIDE.  49 

(  Widoiv  opens  the  door — Beaiiseant  pushes  her  aside, 
and  enters.) 
Ah  I  Heavens  I  that  hateful  Beauseant  I   This  is  indeed 
bitter ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Good  morning  ,  Madam  I  Oh  ,  Widow,  your  son  begs  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  go  to  him  in  the  village  —  he  wants 
to  speak  to  you  on  particular  business-,  you'll  find  him  at  the 
inn  ,  or  the  grocer's  shop ,  or  the  baker's  ,  or  at  some  other 
friend's  of  your  family  —  make  haste  I 

PAULINE. 

Don't  leave  me ,  mother !  — don't  leave  me ! 

BEAUSEANT  {wUh  great  respect). 
Be  not  alarmed,  Madam.  Beheve  me  your  friend  —  your 
servant. 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  have  no  fear  of  you ,  even  in  this  house  I  Go,  Madam , 
if  your  son  wishes  it  ^  I  will  not  contradict  his  commands 
whilst ,  at  least ,  he  has  still  the  right  to  be  obeyed. 

^'IDOW. 

I  don't  understand  this-,  however,  I  shan't  be  long  gone. 

[Exit. 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  I  divine  the  object  of  your  visit — you  wish  to  exult  in 
the  humiliation  of  one  who  humbled  you.  Be  it  so  ^  I  am  pre- 
pared to  endure  all  —  even  your  presence ! 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  mistake  me ,  Madam  —  Paujine ,  you  mistake  me !  I 
come  to  lay  my  fortune  at  your  feet  You  must  already  be 
disenchanted  with  this  impostor  ^  these  walls  are  not  worthy 
to  be  hallowed  by  your  beauty  I  Shall  that  form  be  clasped  in 
the  arms  of  a  base-born  peasant?  Beloved,  beautiful  Pauline  I 
fly  with  me  —  my  carriage  waits  without —  I  will  bear  you  to 
a  home  more  meet  for  your  reception.  Wealth  ,  luxury,  sta- 
tion —  all  shall  yet  be  yours.  I  forget  your  past  disdain  — 
I  remember  only  your  beauty,  and  my  unconquerable  love  I 

PAULINE. 

Sir !  leave  this  house  —  it  is  humble  :  but  a  husband's  roof, 
however  lowly,  is ,  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Man ,  the  temple 
of  a  wife's  honour !  Know  that  I  would  rather  starve  — 
yes!— with  him  who  has  betrayed  me,  than  accept  your 

4 


50  THE    LADY   OF    LYONS  ,  act  n 

la\Yful  hand  ,  even  were  you  the  Prince  whose  name  he 
bore  I— Go! 

BEAUSEA.NT. 

What  I  is  not  your  pride  humbled  yet  ? 

PAULINE. 

Sir,  what  was  pride  in  prosperity,  in  affliction  becomes 
virtue. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Look  round  :  these  rugged  floors  —  these  homely  walls  — 
this  wretched  struggle  of  poverty  for  comfort  —  think  of  this! 
and  contrast  with  such  a  picture  the  refinement ,  the  luxury, 
the  pomp  that  the  wealthiest  gentleman  of  Lyons  offers  to  the 
lovehest  lady.  Ah ,  hear  me  I 

PAULINE. 

Oh!  my  father!  —  why  did  I  leave  you? — why  am  I 
thus  friendless?  Sir,  you  see  before  you  a  betrayed  ,  injured  . 
miserable  woman  !  — respect  her  anguish ! 

( Melnotte  opens  the  door  silently,  and  pauses  at  the 
threshold, ) 

BEAU5EANT. 

No!  let  me  rather  thus  console  it ^— let  me  snatch  from 
those  lips  one  breath  of  that  fragrance  which  never  should  be 
wasted  on  the  low  churl  thy  husband, 

PAULINE. 

Help!  Claude  !  —Claude!  Have  I  no  protector? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Be  silent!  {showing  a  pistol)  See,  I  do  not  come  unpre- 
pared even  for  violence.  1  will  brave  all  things— thy  husband 
and  all  his  race  —  for  thy  sake.  Thus ,  then  ,  I  clasp  thee ! 
3IELN0TTE  [dashing  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  stage). 
Pauline  —  look  up,  Pauline  !  thou  art  safe. 

BEAUSEANT  [levelling  his  pistol). 
Dare  you  thus  insult  a  man  of  my  birth  ,  ruffian  ? 

PAULINE. 

Oh ,  spare  him  —  spare  my  husband  !  —  Beauseant— Claude 
—  no— no — {faints). 

AIELNOTTE. 

IMiserable  trickster !  shame  upon  you !  brave  devices  to  ter- 
rify a  woman!  coward  —  you  tremble —  you  have  outraged 
Ihe  laws— vou  know  that  your  weapon  is  harmless  — you 


SCENE  I.]  Oft    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  5l 

have  the  courage  of  the  mountebank ,  not  the  bravo  I  —  Pau- 
hne,  there  is  no  danger. 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  wish  thou  wert  a  gentleman  —  as  it  is  thou  art  beneath  me. 
—Good  day,  and  a  happy  honeymoon,  [aside)  I  will  not  die 
till  I  am  avenged.  [  Exit  Beauseant. 

MELNOTTE. 

I  hold  her  in  these  arms  —  the  last  embrace ! 

Never,  ah  never  more ,  shall  this  dear  head 

Be  pillow'd  on  the  heart  that  should  have  shelter'd 

And  has  betray'd  I  Soft  —  soft  I  one  kiss — poor  wretch  I 

No  scorn  on  that  pale  lip  forbids  me  now  \ 

One  kiss  —  so  ends  all  record  of  my  crime ! 

It  is  the  seal  upon  the  tomb  of  Hope , 

By  which ,  hke  some  lost ,  sorrowing  angel ,  sits 

Sad  Memory  evermore  -y—  she  breathes  —  she  moves  — 

She  wakes  to  scorn ,  to  hate ,  but  not  to  shudder 

Beneatb  the  touch  of  my  abhorred  love. 

^  ( Places  her  on  a  seat, ) 

There  —  we  are  strangers  now^  I 

Paulijve. 

All  gone  —  all  calm  — 
Is  every  thing  a  dream  ?  thou  art  safe  ,  unhurt  — 
I  do  not  love  thee  \  but  —  but  I  am  woman ; 
And — and —  no  blood  is  spilt? 

MELAOTTE. 

No ,  lady,  no  ; 
My  guilt  hath  not  deserved  so  rich  a  blessing 
As  even  danger  in  thy  cause. 

{Enter  Widow.) 

WIDOW. 

My  son ,  I  have  been  everywhere  in  search  of  you  ^  why 
did  you  send  for  me  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  did  not  send  for  you.  . 

WIDOW. 

No  I  but  I  must  tell  youyour  express  has  returned. 

MELNOTTE. 

So  soon  I  impossible  ! 

WIDOW. 

Yes,  he  met  the  lady's  father  and  mother  on  the  road  ^  they 


52  THE    LADY   OF   LYO.XS,  [act  lY. 

were  going  into  the  country  on  a  visit.  Your  messenger  says 
that  Monsieur  Deschappelles  turned  almost  white  with  anger, 
when  he  read  your  letter.  They  will  be  here  almost  imme- 
diately. Oh ,  Claude ,  Claude  I  what  will  they  do  to  you  ? 
How  I  tremble  I  —  Ah,  Madam!  do  not  let  them  injure  him 
—  if  you  knew  how  he  doted  on  you  I 

PAULINE. 

Injure  him  I  no,  Ma'am ,  be  not  afraid ;  — my  father  I  how 
shall  I  meet  him?  how  go  back  to  Lyons?  the  scoff  of  the 
whole  city !  —  cruel,  cruel  Claude  —  {in  great  agitation) — 
Sir,  you  have  acted  most  treacherously. 

MEL?sOTTE. 

I  know  it ,  Madam. 

PAULIISE. 

( Aside )  If  he  would  but  ask  me  to  forgive  him !  —  I  never 
can  forgive  you ,  Sir  I 

MELNOTTE. 

I  never  dared  to  hope  it. 

PAULINE.  4» 

"But  you  are  my  husband  now,  aud  I  have  sworn  to  — to 
love  yoU;,  Sir. 

MEL^'OTTE. 

That  was  lender  a  false  belief.  Madam  *,  Heaven  and  the 
laws  will  release  you  from  your  vow. 

.       PAULL\E. 

He  will  drive  me  mad  I  if  he  were  but  less  proud — if  he 
would  but  ask  me  to  remain  -  hark,  hark  —  I  hear  the  wheels 
of  the  carriage  —  Sir— Claude,  they  are  coming-,  have  you 
no  word  to  say  ere  it  is  too  late  ?  quick  —  speak  I 

MELNOTTE. 

I  can  only  congratulate  you  on  your  release.  Behold  your 
parents ! 

{Enter  Monsieur  and  Madame  Deschappelles  and  Co- 
lonel Damas. ) 

MOS.    DESCHAP. 

My  child !  —  my  child  I 

3IADAME    DESCHAP. 

Oh ,  my  poor  Pauline  I  —  what  a  viHanous  hovel  this  is  I 
Old  woman,  get  me  a  chair  —  I  shall  faint  —  I  certainly  shall. 
What  will  the  world  say  ?  —  Child  ,  you  have  been  a  fool., A 
mother's  heart  is  easily  broken. 


SCENE  I.]  OR   LOVE    A>D    PRIDE.  53 

DAMAS. 

Ha,  ha  !  —  most  noble  Prince —  I  am  sorry  to  see  a  man 
of  your  quality  in  such  a  condition ;  I  am  afraid  your  Highness 
will  go  to  the  House  of  Correction. 

MELKOTTE. 

Taunt  on,  Sir  — I  spared  you  when  you  were  unarmed  — 
I  am  unarmed  now.  A  man  who  has  no  excuse  for  crime  is 
indeed  defenceless ! 

DAMAS. 

There's  something  fine  in  the  rascal,  after  all ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Where  is  the  impostor  ?  —  Are  you  thus  shameless ,  traitor? 
Can  you  brave  the  presence  of  that  girl's  father  ? 

MELNOTTE. 

Strike  me ,  if  it  please  you  —  you  are  her  father ! 

PAULINE. 

Sir  —  sir,  for  my  sake ;  —  whatever  his  guilt ,  he  has  acted 
nobly  in  atonement. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

Nobly  I  Are  you  mad,  girl?  I  have  no  patience  with  you 

—  to  disgrace  all  your  family  thus  I  IVobly  I  Oh  ,  you  abomin- 
able ,  hardened,  pitiful,  mean ,  ugly  villain  ! 

DAMAS. 

Ugly !  Why  he  was  beautiful  yesterday  ! 

PAULINE. 

Madam,  this  is  his  roof,  and  he  is  my  husband.  Respect 
your  daughter,  and  let  blame  fall  alone  on  her. 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

You — you  —  Oh,  I'm  choking. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Sir,  it  were  idle  to  waste  reproach  upon  a  conscience  liko 
yours  —  you  renounce  all  pretensions  to  the  person  of  this 
lady? 

MELNOTTE. 

I  do.  —  (Gives  a  paper.)  Here  is  my  consent  to  a  divorce- 

—  my  full  confession  of  the  fraud ,  w^hich  annuls  the  marriage. 
Your  daughter  has  been  foully  WTonged  —  I  grant  it ,  Sir  •, 
but  her  own  lips  will  tell  you,  that  from  the  hour  in  which 
she  crossed  this  threshold,  I  returned  to  my  own  station, 
and  respected  hers.  Pure  and  inviolate ,  as  when  yestermorn 
>fou  laid  your  hand  upon  her  head  and  blessed  her,  I  yield 


54  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS  ,  [act  iv. 

her  back  to  you.  For  myself— I  deliver  you  for  ever  from 
my  presence.  An  outcast  and  a  criminal ,  I  seek  some  distant 
land,  where  I  may  mourn  my  sin  and  pray  for  your  daughter's 
peace.  Farewell  ~  farewell  to  you  all ,  for  ever ! 

WIDOW. 

Claude,  Claude,  you  will  not  leave  your  poor  old  mother  ? 
She  does  not  disow^n  you  in  your  sorrow  —  no ,  not  even 
in  your  guilt.  No  divorce  can  separate  a  mother  from  her  son. 

PAUUNE. 

This  poor  widow  teaches  me  my  duty.  No ,  mother  —  no , 
for  you  are  now  my  mother  also  !  —  nor  should  any  law, 
human  or  divine,  separate  the  wife  from  her  husband's 
sorrows.  Claude  —  Claude  —  all  is  forgotten  —  forgiven  — I 
am  thine  for  ever ! 

.MADAME    DESCHAP. 

What  do  I  hear  ?  —  Come  away,  or  never  see  my  face  again. 

MOrsS.    DESCHAP. 

Pauline ,  we  never  betrayed  you  I  —  do  you  forsake  us 
for  him? 

PAULINE  {going  back  to  her  father). 

Oh,  no — but  you  will  forgive  him  too;  we  will  live  to- 
gether—  he  shall  be  your  son. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Never!  Cling  to  him  and  forsake  your  parents  I  His  home 
shall  be  yours  —  his  fortune  yours — his  fate  yours  :  the  wealth 
I  have  acquired  by  honest  industry  shall  never  enrich  the 
dishonest  man. 

PAULINE. 

And  you  would  have  a  wife  enjoy  luxury  while  a  husband 
toils  I  Claude ,  take  me  •,  thou  canst  not  give  me  wealth ,  titles, 
station  —  but  thou  canst  give  me  a  true  heart.  I  will  work  for 
thee ,  tend  thee ,  bear  with  thee ,  and  never,  never  shall  these 
lips  reproach  thee  for  the  past. 

DAMAS. 

I'll  be  hanged  if  I  am  not  going  to  blubber  I 

MELNOTTE. 

This  is  the  heaviest  blow  of  all  I— What  a  heart  I  have 

wronged  I  —  Do  not  fear  me  ,  Sir  ^  I  am  not  all  hardened—  I 
will  not  rob  her  of  a  holier  love  than  mine.  Pauline — angel  of 
love  and  mercy  I  —  your  memory  shall  lead  me  back  to  virtue ! 
:— The  husband  ol  a  being  so  beautiful  in  her  noble  and 


SCE^EI.]  OR    LOVE    A.ND    PRIDE.  55 

sublime  tenderness  may  be  poor — may  be  low-born ;  —  there 
is  no  guilt  in  the  decrees  of  Providence ! ,  —but  he  should  l>e 
one  who  can  look  thee  in  the  face  without  a  blush,  — to 
whom  thy  love  does  not  bring  remorse ,  —  who  can  fold  thee 

to  his  heart,  and  say,  —  " /Tf  re  there  is  no  deceit  I " lam 

not  that  man ! 

D.iMAS  '^aside  to  Melnotte). 

Thou  art  a  noble  fellow,  notwithstanding-  and  wouldst 

make  an  excellent  soldier.  Serve  in  my  regiment.  I  have  had 

a  letter  from  the  Directory  — our  young  General  takes  the 

command  of  the  army  in  Italy,  —  I  am  to  join  him  at  Marseilles, 

—  I  will  depart  this  day,  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me. 

MELNOTTE. 

It  is  the  favour  I  would  have  asked  thee,  if  I  dared.  Place 
me  wherever  a  foe  is  most  dreaded, — wherever  France 
most  needs  a  life ! 

DAMAS. 

There  shall  not  be  a  forlorn  hope  without  thee  ! 

MELNOTTE. 

There  is  my  hand  I  —  Mother  I  your  blessing.  I  shall  see 
you  again,  —  a  better  man  than  a  prince,  —a  man  who  has 
bought  the  right  to  high  thoughts  by  brave  deeds.  And  thou  I 

—  thou  I  so  wildly  worshipped ,  so  guiltily  betrayed ,  —  all  is 
not  yet  lost!— for  thy  memory,  at  least,  must  be  mine  till 
death  I  If  I  live,  the  name  of  bun  thou  hast  once  loved  shall 
not  rest  dishonoured ;  —  if  I  fall ,  amidst  the  carnage  and  roar 
of  battle ,  my  soul  will  fly  back  to  thee ,  and  Love  shall  share 
with  Death  my  last  sigh! — More— more  would  I  speak  to 
thee!  — to  pray !  —to  bless!  But,  no!  —  when  I  am  less  un- 
worthy I  will  utter  it  to  Heaven! — I  cannot  trust  myself 

to '^turning  to  Deschappelles)    Your  pardon.  Sir;  — 

they  are  my  last  words  —  Farewell !  [Exit. 

DAMAS. 

I  will  go  after  him.  — France  will  thank  me  for  this.  [Exit. 

PAULLNE  [starting  from  her  father's  arms), 
Claude !  —  Claude  !  my  husband ! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

You  have  a  father  still  I 

E>D    OF    ACT    IV, 


56  THE   LADY   OF  LYONS,  [act  v. 

ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. 


Two  *ears  and  a  half  from  the  date  of  Act  IV. 


The  Streets  of  Lyons. 
{Enter  First,  Second,  and  Third  Officers.) 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Well ,  here  we  are  at  Lyons ,  with  gallant  old  Damas  :  it 
is  his  native  place. 

SECOND    OFFICER. 

Yes  ^  he  has  gained  a  step  in  the  army  since  he  was  here 
last.  The  Lyonnese  ought  to  be  very  proud  of  stout  General 
Damas. 

THIRD   OFFICER. 

Promotion  is  quick  in  the  French  army.  This  mysterious 
Morier,— the  hero  of  Lodi ,  and  the  favourite  of  the  Comman- 
der-in-Chief,  —has  risen  to  a  colonel's  rank  in  two  years  and 
a  half. 

{Enter  Damas,  as  a  General.) 

DA3IAS. 

Good  morrow,  gentlemen  ^  I  hope  you  will  amuse  yoursel- 
ves during  our  short  stay  at  Lyons.  It  is  a  fine  city ;  improved 
since  I  left  it.  Ah !  it  is  a  pleasure  to  grow  old ,  —  when  the 
years  that  bring  decay  to  ourselves  do  but  ripen  the  prospe- 
rity of  our  country.   You  have  not  met  with  Morier  ? 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

No  :  we  were  just  speaking  of  him. 

SECOND   OFFICER. 

Pray,  General ,  can  you  tell  us  who  this  Morier  really  is? 


scmi.]  OR   LOVE    A?iD   PRIDE.  67 

DA3IAS. 

Is!  — why  a  Colonel  ir>  the  French  army. 

THIRD    OFFICER. 

True.   But  what  was  he  at  first? 

DA  MAS. 

At  first?  — Why,  a  baby  in  long  clothes,  I  suppose. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Ha  I  —  ha  I  —  Ever  facetious ,  General. 

SECOND  OFFICER  {to  Third). 
The  General  is  sore  upon  this  point  \  you  will  only  chafe 
him. —  Any  commands.  General? 

DA  MAS. 

None.  —  Good  day  to  you ! 

\_Exeunt  Second  and  Third  Officers. 

DA3IAS. 

Our  comrades  are  very  inquisitive.  PoorMorier  is  the 
subject  of  a  vast  deal  of  curiosity. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

Say  interest ,  rather,  General.  His  constant  melancholy, 
the  loneliness  of  his  habits,— his  daring  valour,— his  brilliant 
rise  in  the  profession,— your  friendship,  and  the  favours  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief,— all  tend  to  make  him  as  much  the 
matter  of  gossip  as  of  admiration.  But  where  is  he,  General? 
I  have  missed  him  all  the  morning. 

DAM  AS. 

AVhy,  Captain ,  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret.  My  young  friend 
has  come  with  me  to  Lyons  in  hopes  of  finding  a  miracle. 

FIRST  OFFICER. 

A  miracle  I  — 

DA3IAS. 

Yes,  a  miracle  I  In  other  words,— a  constant  woman. 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

OhI— an  affair  of  love! 

DA^IAS. 

Exactly  so.  No  sooner  did  he  enter  Lyons  than  he  waved 
his  hand  to  me,  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  and  is  now,  I 
warrant ,  asking  every  one,  w^ho  can  know  anything  about 
the  matter,  w^hether  a  certain  lady  is  still  true  to  a  certain 
gentleman ! 

FIRST    OFFICER. 

Success  to  him  I — and  of  that  success  there  can  be  no 


58  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  v. 

doubt.   The  gallant  Colonel  Morier,  the  hero  of  Lodi,  might 
make  his  choice  out  of  the  proudest  families  in  France. 

DAMAS. 

Oh,  if  pride  be  a  recommendation,  the  lady  and  her  mother 
are  most  handsomely  endowed.  By  the  way,  Captain ,  if  you 
should  chance  to  meet  with  Morier,  tell  him  he  will  find  me 
at  the  hotel. 

FIRST   OFFICER. 

I  will,  General.  lExit. 

DAMAS. 

Now  will  I  go  to  the  Deschappelles ,  and  make  a  report  to 
my  young  Colonel.  Ha !  by  Mars,  Bacchus ,  Apollo,  Virorum, 
—  here  comes  Monsieur  Beauseant  I 

{Enter  Beauseant.) 
Good  morrow,  Monsieur  Beauseant  I  How  fares  it  with  you  ? 

BEAUSEAivT  {ttside), 

DamasI  that  is  unfortunate^  —  if  the  Italian  campaign 

should  have  filled  his  pockets,  he  may  seek  to  baffle  me  in  the 

moment  of  my  victory.  {Aloud)  Your  servant.  General,— for 

such,  I  think,  is  your  new  distinction !  Just  arrived  in  Lyons? 

DAMAS. 

Not  an  hour  ago.  Well ,  how  go  on  the  Deschappelles  ? 
Have  they  forgiven  you  in  that  affair  of  young  Melnotte?  You 
had  some  hand  in  that  notable  device  ,  —  eh  ? 

BEAUSEANT. 

Why,  less  than  you  think  fori  The  fellow  imposed  upon 
me,  I  have  set  it  all  right  now.  What  has  become  of  him  ? 
He  could  not  have  joined  the  army,  after  all.  There  is  no 
such  name  in  the  books. 

DAMAS. 

I  know  nothing  about  Melnotte.  As  you  say,  I  never  heard 
ihe  name  in  the  Grand  Army. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Hem  !  —  You  are  not  married ,  General  ? 

DAMAS. 

Do  I  look  like  a  married  man  ,  Sir  ?  —  No,  thank  Heaven  ! 
My  profession  is  to  make  widow^s ,  not  wives. 

BEAUSEANT. 

You  must  have  gained  much  booty  in  Italy  I  Pauline  will 
be  your  heiress  —  eh  ? 


SCENE  1.]  OR    LOVE    A>D    PlflDK.  59 

DA3IAS. 

Booty  I  Not  II  Heiress  to  what?  Two  trunks  and  a  port- 
manteau ,  —  four  horses  ,  —  three  swords ,  —  two  suits  of  re- 
gimentals ,  and  six  pair  of  white  leather  inexpressibles  I  A 
pretty  fortune  for  a  young  lady  I 

BEAUSEA>T. 

{Aside)  Then  all  is  safe  !  {Aloud)  Ha  I  ha  I  Is  that  really 
all  your  capital ,  General  Damas?  Why,  I  thought  Italy  had 
been  a  second  Mexico  to  you  soldiers. 

DAMAS. 

All  a  toss  up  ,  Sir.  I  was  not  one  of  the  lucky  ones  I  My 
friend  IMorier,  indeed ,  saved  something  handsome.  But  our 
Com.mander-in-Chief  took  care  of  him,  and  Morieris  a  thrifty, 
economical  dog,  —  not  like  the  rest  of  us  soldiers,  who  spend 
our  money  as  caretessly  as  if  it  were  our  blood. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Well ,  it  is  no  matter !  I  do  not  want  fortune  with  Pauline. 
And  you  must  know,  General  Damas ,  that  your  fair  cousin 
has  at  length  consented  to  reward  my  long  and  ardent  at- 
tachment. 

DAMAS. 

You !  — the  devil !  Why,  she  is  already  married  I  There  is 

no  divorce  I 

» 

BEAUSEANT. 

True :  but  this  very  day  she  is  formally  to  authorise  the  ne- 
cessary proceedings  ,  —  this  very  day  she  is  to  sign  the  con- 
tract that  is  to  make  her  mine  within  one  w^ek  from  the  day 
on  which  her  present  illegal  marriage  is  annulled. 

DAMAS. 

You  tell  me  wonders  I  —  Wonders  I  No ;  I  believe  anything 
of  women  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

I  must  wish  you  good  morning. 

{As  he  is  going ,  enter  DeschappeUes." 

3I0i\S.    DESCHAP. 

Oh ,  Beauseant  I  well  met.  Let  us  come  to  the  notary  at 
once. 

DAMAS  {to  Deschappelles), 
Why,  cousin? 


60 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Damas ,  welcome  to  Lyons.  Pray  call  on  us  •,  my  \Yile  will 
be  delighted  to  see  you. 

DA3IAS. 

Your  wife  be blessed  for  her  condescension!  But  {tak- 
ing him  aside),  what  do  I  hear?  Is  it  possible  that  your 
daughter  has  consented  to  a  divorce  ?  —  that  she  will  marry 
Monsieur  Beauseant  ? 

3I0XS.    DESCHAP. 

Certainly !  What  have  you  to  say  against  it?  A  gentleman 
of  birth ,  fortune ,  character.  We  are  not  so  proud  as  we 
were  ;  even  my  wife  has  had  enough  of  nobility  and  princes  I 

DAMAS. 

But  Pauline  loved  that  young  man  so  tenderly  I 

Mo?,-s.  DESCHAP.  {taking  sjiuff). 
That  was  two  years  and  a  half  ago ! 

DAMAS. 

Very  true.  Poor  Melnotte ! 

MO^S.    DESCHAP. 

But  do  not  talk  of  that  impostor  ^  I  hope  he  is  dead  or  has 
left  the  country.  Kay,  even  were  he  in  Lyons  at  this  moment, 
he  ought  to  rejoice  that,  in  an  honourable  and  suitable  al- 
liance, my  daughter  may  forget  her  sufferings  and  his  crime. 

D  A.MAS. 

Kay,  if  it  be  all  settled  ,  I  have  no  more  to  say.  Monsieur 
Beauseant  informs  me  that  the  contract  is  to  be  signed  this 
very  day. 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

It  is  5  at  one  o'clock  precisely.  Will  you  be  one  of  the  wit- 
nesses? 

DAMAS. 

I  ?  —  No  ^  that  is  to  say  —  yes  ,  certainly  I  —  at  one  o'clock 
I  will  wait  on  you.  • 

MO>-S.    DESCHAP. 

Till  then,  adieu  —  come ,  Beauseant. 

[  Exeunt  Beauseant  and  Deschappelles^ 

DAMAS. 

The  man  who  sets  his  heart  upon  a  woman 
Is  a  chameleon ,  and  doth  feed  on  air ; 
From  air  he  takes  his  colours ,  —  holds  his  life ,  — 
Changes  with  every  wind  ,  —grows  lean  or  fat ; 


SCENE  1.]  OR    LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  61 

Rosy  with  hope ,  or  green  with  jealousy, 

Or  palhd  with  despair  —  just  as  the  gale 

Varies  from  north  to  south  —  from  heat  to  cold ! 

Oh ,  woman  I  woman  I  thou  should'st  have  few,  sins 

Of  thine  own  to  answ^er  for !  Thou  art  the  author 

Of  such  a  book  of  follies  in  a  man , 

That  it  would  need  the  tears  of  all  the  angels 

To  blot  the  record  out  I 

{Enter  Melnotte ,  pale  and  agitated.) 
I  need  not  tell  thee  I  Thou  hast  heard — 

»IELNOTTE. 

The  worst  I 
I  have  I 

DAMAS. 

Be  cheer'd  ^  others  are  as  fair  as  she  is  I 

MELNOTTE. 

Others  I— The  world  is  crumbled  at  my  feet  I 
She  was  my  w^orld  \  fiU'd  up  the  whole  of  being- 
Smiled  in  the  sunshine— walk'd  the  glorious  earth— 
Sate  in  my  heart — was  the  sweet  life  of  life. 
The  Past  was  hers  :  I  dreamt  not  of  a  Future 
That  did  not  wear  her  shape !  Mem'ry  and  Hope 
Alike  are  gone.  Pauline  is  faithless  I  Henceforth 
The  universal  space  is  desolate ! 

DA  31  AS. 

Hope  yet. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hope  ,  yes  I — one  hope  is  left  me  still — 
A  soldier's  grave !  Glory  has  died  with  Love  \ 
I  look  into  my  heart ,  and ,  where  I  saw 
Pauline ,  see  Death ! 

{After  a  pause.) — But  am  I  not  deceived? 
I  went  but  by  the  rumour  of  the  town  •, 
Ptumour  is  false, — I  was  too  hasty  I  Damas , 
Whom  hast  thou  seen  ? 

DAMAS. 

Thy  rival  and  her  father. 
Arm  thyself  for  the  truth  !  He  heeds  not 

MELNOTTE. 

She 
Will  never  know  how  deeply  she  was  loved ! 


62  THE    LADY    OF    LYOiN S  ,  [act  v. 

The  charitable  night ,  that  wont  to  bring 

Comfort  to  day,  in  bright  and  eloquent  dreams, 

Is  henceforth  leagued  with  misery  I  Sleep  ,  farewell , 

Or  else  becom^  eternal  I  Oh ,  the  w^aking 

From  false  oblivion ,  and  to  see  the  sun , 

And  know  she  is  another's  I 

DAMAS. 

Be  a  man ; 

MELNOTTE. 

I  am  a  man  I— it  is  the  sting  of  woe , 
Like  mine,  that  tells  us  we  are  men ! 

DA3IAS. 

The  false  one 
Did  not  deserve  thee. 

MELNOTTE. 

Hush  I  —  No  word  against  her  I 
Why  should  she  keep ,  thro'  years  and  silent  absence, 
The  holy  tablets  of  her  virgin  faith 
True  to  a  traitor's  name  ?  Oh ,  blame  her  not , 
It  were  a  sharper  grief  to  think  her  worthless 
Than  to  be  what  I  am  I  To-day,  —  to-day  I 
They  said  *  to-day.  I '  This  day,  so  wildly  welcomed  — 
This  day,  my  soul  had  singled  out  of  time 
And  mark'd  for  bliss  I  This  day  I  oh  ,  could  I  see  her, 
See  her  once  more ,  unknown  ^  but  hear  her  voice , 
So  that  one  echo  of  its  music  might 
Make  ruin  less  appaUing  in  its  silence  I 

DAMAS. 

Easily  done  I  Come  with  me  to  her  house  °, 

Your  dress  —  your  cloak  —  moustache  —  the  bronzed  hues 

Of  time  and  toil  —  the  name  you  bear  —  belief 

In  your  absence,  all  will  ward  away  suspicion. 

Keep  in  the  shade.  Ay,  1  would  have  you  come. 

There  may  be  hope  !  Pauline  is  yet  so  young. 

They  may  have  forced  her  to  these  second  bridals 

Out  of  mistaken  love. 

MEL.\0TTE. 

No,  bid  me  hope  not ! 
Bid  me  not  hope  I  I  could  not  bear  again 
To  fall  from  such  a  heaven  I  One  gleam  of  sunshine. 
And  the  ice  breaks  and  I  am  lost  I  Oh ,  Damas , 


SCENE  I.]  OR    LOVE    A>D    PRIDE.  63 

There's  no  such  thmg  as  courage  in  a  man  ^ 
The  veriest  slave  that  ever  crawl'd  from  danger 
Might  spurn  me  now.  When  first  I  lost  her,  Damas, 
I  bore  it .  did  I  not?  I  still  had  hope , 
And  now  I  —  I — 

{bursts  into  an  agony  of  grief. ) 

DAM  AS. 

What ,  com.rade  I  all  the  women 
That  ever  smiled  destruction  on  brave  hearts 
"Were  not  worth  tears  Uke  these ! 

MELXOTTE. 

'Tis  past  — forget  it. 
I  am  prepared  :  life  has  no  farther  ills ! 
The  cloud  has  broken  in  that  stormy  rain  , 
And  on  the  waste  I  stand,  alone  with  Heaven  I 

DAMAS. 

His  very  face  is  changed  •,  a  breaking  heart 

Does  its  work  soon  I  — Come,  Melnotte ,  rouse  thyself  : 

One  effort  more.  Again  thou'lt  see  her. 

MELNOTTE. 

See  her  I 
There  is  a  passion  in  that  simple  sentence 
That  shivers  all  the  pride  and  power  of  reason 
Into  a  chaos  I 

DAMAS. 

Time  w^anes  •,  come  \  ere  yet 
It  be  too  late. 

MEL>"0TTE. 

Terrible  words  — '-  Too  late  I " 
Lead  on.  One  last  look  more  ,  and  then 

DAMAS. 

Forget  her  I 

MEL>OTTE. 

Forget  her  I  —  Yes  —  for  death  remembers  not. 

iExeu7}t, 


64  THE   LADY   OF   LYONS  ,  [act  v. 

SCENE  II. 

A  Room  in  the  house  of  Monsieur  Deschappelles ;  Pauline 
seated  in  great  dejection. 

PAULINE. 

It  is  so  then.  I  must  be  false  to  Love, 

Or  sacrifice  a  father  I  Oh ,  my  Claude  , 

My  lover,  and  my  husband  I  have  I  lived 

To  pray  that  thou  may'st  find  some  fairer  boon 

Than  the  deep  faith  of  this  devoted  heart  ,— 

Nourish'd  till  now  —  now  broken? 

:  E Titer  Monsieur  Deschappelles, ) 

3IONS.    DESCHAP. 

My  dear  child , 
How  shall  I  thank  —  how  bless  thee  ?  Thou  hast  saved  — 
I  will  not  say  my  fortune  —  I  could  bear 
Pveverse ,  and  shrink  not  -—  but  that  prouder  wealth 
Which  merchants  value  most  — my  name ,  my  credit  — 
The  hard-won  honours  of  a  toilsome  life  — 
These  thou  hast  saved ,  my  child  I 

PAULINE. 

Is  there  no  hope? 
No  hope  but  this  ? 

3I0NS.    DESCHAP. 

None.    If,  without  the  sum 
Which Beauseant  offers  for  thy  hand,  this  day 
Sinks  to  the  west  —  to-morrow  brings  our  ruin  I 
And  hundreds ,  mingled  in  that  ruin ,  curse 
The  bankrupt  merchant  I  and  the  insolent  herd 
^Ve  feasted  and  made  merry  cry  in  scorn  , 
"  How  pride  has  fallen  I  —  Lo ,  the  bankrupt  merchant  I"  — 
My  daughter ,  thou  hast  saved  us  I 

PAULINE. 

And  am  lost  I 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

Come  ,  let  me  hope  that  Beauseant's  love  — 

PAULINE. 

His  love  I 
Talk  not  of  love  —  Love  has  no  thought  of  self  I 


SCENE  II.]  OR   LOVE   AND   PRIDE.  65 

Love  buys  not  with  the  ruthless  usurer's  gold 
The  loathsome  prostitution  of  a  hand 
Without  a  heart  I    Love  sacrifices  all  things 
To  bless  the  thing  it  loves!    He  knows  not  love. 
Father ,  his  love  is  hate  —  his  hope  revenge ! 
My  tears ,  my  anguish ,  my  remorse  for  falsehood  — 
These  are  the  joys  he  wrings  from  our  despair! 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

If  thou  deem'st  thus ,  reject  him !    Shame  and  ruin 
Were  better  than  thy  misery  •,  —  think  no  more  on't. 
My  sand  is  well-nigh  run  — what  boots  it  when 
The  glass  is  broken  ?   We'll  annul  the  contract. 
And  if  to-morrow  in  the  prisoner's  cell 
These  aged  limbs  are  laid ,  why  still ,  my  child , 
I'll  think  thou  art  spared  •,  and  wait  the  Liberal  Hour 
That  lays  the  beggar  by  the  side  of  kings ! 

PAULINE. 

No — no  —  forgive  me !    You ,  my  honour'd  father ,  — 
You ,  who  so  loved ,  so  cherish'd  me,  w^hose  lips 
Never  knew  one  harsh  word  !   I'm  not  ungrateful , 
I  am  but  human !  —  hush !    Now ,  call  the  bridegroom — 
You  see  I  am  prepared  —  no  tears  —  all  calm  j 
But,  father ,  talk  no  more  of  love  I 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

My  child , 
'Tis  but  one  struggle  \  he  is  young ,  rich  ,  noble ; 
Thy  state  will  rank  first  'mid  the  dames  of  Lyons  ^ 
And  when  this  heart  can  shelter  thee  no  more , 
Thy  youth  will  not  be  guardianless. 

PAULINE. 

I  have  set 
My  foot  upon  the  ploughshare  —  I  will  pass 
The  fiery  ordeal.    ( Aside )  Merciful  Heaven ,  support  me ! 
And  on  the  absent  wanderer  shed  the  fight 
Of  happier  stars  —  lost  evermore  to  me  I 
[Enter  Madame  Deschappelles ^  Beauseant,  Glavis  and 
Notary.) 

MADAME   DESCHAP. 

Why,  Pauline ,  you  are  quite  in  deshabille — you  ought  to 
be  more  alive  to  the  importance  of  this  joyful  occasion.  We 
had  once  looked  higher ,  it  is  true ;  but  you  see ,  after  all , 


66  T«E    LADY  OF   LYONS  ,  [act  v 

Monsieur  Beauseant's  father  was  a  Marquis,  and  that's  a  great 
comfort !  Pedigree  and  jointure !  —  you  have  them  both  in 
Monsieur  Beauseant=  A  young  lady  decorously  brought  up 
should  only  have  two  considerations  in  her  choice  of  a  hus- 
band :  —  first,  is  his  birth  honourable  ^  —  secondly,  will  his 
death  be  advantageous?  All  other  trifling  details  should  be 
left  to  parental  anxiety ! 

BE  A  USE  AN  T  {approciching ,  and  waging  aside  Madame). 
Ah ,  Pauline !  let  me  hope  that  you  are  reconciled  to  an 
event  which  confers  such  rapture  upon  me. 

PAULINE. 

I  am  reconciled  to  my  doom. 

BEAUSEANT. 

Doom  is  a  harsh  word ,  sweet  lady.  • 

PAULINE  {aside). 

This  man  must  have  some  mercy  —  his  heart  cannot  be 
marble.  {Aloud)  Oh  ,  Sir  ,  be  just — be  generous !  —  Seize  a 
noble  triumph  —  a  great  revenge !  —  Save  the  father ,  and 
spare  the  child ! 

BEAUSEANT  {aside). 

Joy— joy  alike  to  my  hatred  and  my  passion !  The  haughty 
Pauline  is  at  last  my  suppliant.  {Aloud)  You  ask  from  me 
what  I  have  not  the  sublime  virtue  to  grant  —  a  virtue  re- 
served only  for  the  gardener's  son  I  1  cannot  forego  my  hopes 
in  the  moment  of  their  fulfilment !  —  I  adhere  to  the  contract 
—  your  father's  ruin ,  or  your  hand ! 

PAULINE. 

Then  all  is  over.  Sir,  I  have  decided. 

( The  Clock  strikes  One. ) 
{Enter  Damas  and  Melnotte.) 

DAMAS. 

Your  servant,  cousin  Deschappelles  —  Let  me  introduce 
Colonel  Morier.  , 

MADAME  DESCHAP.  {curtsjing  very  low). 
What,  the  celebrated  hero?  This  is  indeed  an  honour! 
{Melnotte  bows  and  remains  in  the  hack-ground. j 
DAMAS  {to  Pauline). 
My  little  cousin ,  I  congratulate  you  I   What ,  no  smile  — 
no  blush?  You  are  going  to  be  divorced  from  poor  Melnotte, 
and  marry  this  rich  gentleman.  You  ought  to  be  excessively 
happy  I 


scEXEii.]  OR    LOVE    AND    PRIDE.  67 

PAULINE. 

Happy  I 

DAMAS. 

Why.  how  pale  you  are,  child  I  —  Poor  Pauline  I  Hist  — 
confide  in  me  I  Do  they  force  you  to  this  ^ 

PAULINE. 

Xo! 

DAMAS. 

You  act  with  your  own  free  consent? 

PAULINE. 

My  own  consent  —  yes. 

DAMAS. 

•    Then  you  are  the  most 1  will  not  say  what  yuu  are. 

PAULINE. 

You  think  ill  of  me  —  be  it  so  — yet  if  you  knew  all 

BAM  AS. 

There  is  some  mystery  —  speak  out,  Pauline. 
PAULINE  [suddenly]. 

Oh  I  perhaps  you  can  save  me !  you  are  our  relation  —  our 
friend.  My  father  is  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  — this  day 
he  requires  a  large  sum  to  meet  demands  that  cannot  be 
denied:  that  sum  Beauseant  will  advance  — this  hand  the 
condition  of  the  barter.  Save  me  if  you  have  the  means  — 
save  me  I  You  will  be  repaid  above  I 
DAMAS  [aside ,. 

I  recant—  Women  are  not  so  bad,  after  ^\\\  —  [aloud) 
Humph,  child  I  I  cannot  help  you  — I  am  too  poor! 

PAULINE. 

The  last  plank  to  which  I  clung  is  shivered! 

DAMAS. 

Hold  — you  see  my  friend  Morier  :  Melnotte  is  his  most 
intimate  friend  — fought  in  the  same  fields  — slept  in  the  same 
tent.  Have  you  any  message  to  send  to  Melnotte?  — any 
word  to  soften  this  blow^? 

PAULINE. 

He  knows  Melnotte  —  he  will  see  him  —  he  will  bear  to  him 
my  last  {-avqw-qW  — [approaches  Melnotte)  —  He  has  a  stern 
air — he  turns  away  from  me  — he  despises  me!  Sir,  one 
word ,  I  beseech  you. 

MELNOTTE. 

Her  voice  again !   How  the  old  tinie  comes  o'er  me  ! 


68 

DAMAS  {to  Madame). 
Don't  interrupt  them.  He  is  going  to  tell  her  what  a  rascal 
young  Melnotte  is  •,  he  knows  him  well ,  I  promise  you. 

MADA3IE   DESCHAP. 

So  considerate  in  you,  cousin  Damas! 

{Damas  approaches  Deschappelles ;  converses  apart 
with  him  in  dumb  show  —  Deschappelles  shows  him 
a  paper,  which  he  inspects ,  and  takes,) 

PAULINE. 

Thrice  have  I  sought  to  speak  ^  my  courage  fails  me. 
Sir,  is  it  true  that  you  have  known  —  nay,  are 
The  friend  of  —  Melnotte? 

MELNOTTE. 

Lady,  yes  I— Myself 
And  Misery  know  the  man  I 

PAULINE. 

And  you  will  see  him. 
And  you  will  bear" to  him  —  ay  —  word  for  w^ord, 
All  that  this  heart ,  which  breaks  in  parting  from  him , 
Would  send ,  ere  still  for  ever. 

MELNOTTE. 

He  hath  told  me 
Y  ou  have  the  right  to  choose  from  out  the  world 
A  worthier  bridegroom^  —  he  foregoes  all  claim 
Even  to  murmur  at  his  doom.  Speak  on ! 

PAULINE. 

Tell  him ,  for  years  I  never  nursed  a  thought 
That  was  not  his  ^  —  that  on  his  wandering  way, 
Daily  and  nightly,  poured  a  mourner's  prayers. 
Tell  him  ev'n  now  that  I  would  rather  share 
His  lowliest  lot,  —  walk  by  his  side,  an  outcast;  — 
Work  for  him ,  beg  with  him ,  —  live  upon  the  light 
Of  one  kind  smile  from  him ,  than  wear  the  crown 
The  Bourbon  lost! 

MELNOTTE   [asidc). 

Am  I  already  mad? 
And  does  Delirium  utter  such  sweet  words 
Into  a  Dreamer's  ear?  {Jloud)  You  love  him  thus . 
And  yet  desert  him? 

PAULINE. 

Say,  that,  if  his  eye 


SCENE  II.]  OR    LOVE    AND   PRIDE.  69 

Could  read  this  heart,  —  its  struggles,  its  temptations  — 

His  love  itself  would  pardon  that  desertion  I 

Look  on  that  poor  old  man  —  he  is  my  father  •, 

He  stands  upon  the  verge  of  an  abyss  ^  — 

He  calls  his  child  to  save  him!  Shall  I  shrink 

From  him  who  gave  me  birth?  —  withhold  my  hand, 

And  see  a  parent  perish?  Tell  him  this. 

And  say  —  that  we  shall  meet  again  in  Heaven! 

MELXOTTE  {aside). 
The  night  is  past  —  joy  cometh  with  the  morrow. 
{Aloud)  Lady— I  — I— what  is  this  riddle?  — what 
The  nature  of  this  sacrifice? 

PALLLVE  {pointing  to  Damns). 

Go ,  ask  him ! 
BEAUSEANT  {from  tlic  table). 
The  papers  are  prepared  —  we  only  need 
Your  hand  and  seal. 

MELNOTTE. 

Stay,  lady —  one  word  more. 
"Were  but  your  duty  with  your  faith  united , 
Would  you  still  share  the  low-born  peasant's  lot? 

PAULL\E. 

AYould  I?  x\h ,  better  death  with  him  I  love 

Than  all  the  pomp  —  which  is  but  as  the  flowers 

That  crown  the  victim !  —  {turning  aaay)  I  am  ready. 

{Melnotte  rushes  to  Damas.) 

DAMAS. 

There— 
This  is  the  schedule  —  this  the  total. 

EEAUSEAXT  {to  DescMppelles ,  showing  notes). 

These 
Are  yours  the  instant  she  has  signed :  you  are 
Still  the  great  House  of  Lyons ! 
{The  Notary  is  about  to  hand  the  Contract  to  Pauline, 
when  Melnotte  seizes  and  tears  it.) 

BEALSEANT. 

Are  you  mad? 

MONS.    DESCHAP. 

How,  Sir!  What  means  this  insult? 

MELNOTTE. 

Peace ,  old  man  I 


/O  THE    LADY   OF   LYONS,  [act  v. 

I  have  a  prior  claim.  Before  the  face 
Of  man  and  Heaven  I  urge  it !   I  outbid 
Yon  sordid  huckster  for  your  priceless  jewel. 

{Giving  a  pocket-book.) 
There  is  the  sum  twice  told  I  Blush  not  to  take  it. 
There's  not  a  coin  that  is  not  bought  and  hallow'd 
In  the  cause  of  nations  with  a  soldier's  blood  I 

BEAUSEANT. 

Torments  and  death ! 

PAULINE. 

That  voice!  Thou  art  — 

MELNOTTE. 

Thy  husband : 
{Pauline  rushes  into  his  arms.) 

MELNOTTE. 

Look  up  I  Look  up ,  Pauline !  —  for  I  can  bear 
Thine  eyes!  The  stain  is  blotted  from  my  name. 
I  have  redeemed  mine  honour.   I  can  call 
On  France  to  sanction  thy  divine  forgiveness ! 
Oh ,  joy !  —  Oh ,  rapture !   By  the  midnight  w^atchfires 
Thus  have  I  seen  thee!  — thus  foretold  this  hour! 
And ,  'midst  the  roar  of  battle ,  thus  have  heard 
The  beating  of  thy  heart  against  my  own! 

BEAUSEANT. 

Fool'd,  duped,  and  triumph'd  over  in  the  hour 
Of  mine  own  victory!   Curses  on  ye  both! 
May  thorns  be  planted  in  the  marriage  bed ! 
And  love  grow  sour'd  and  blacken'd  into  hate , 
Such  as  the  hate  that  gnaws  me ! 

DA3LAS. 

Curse  away! 
And  let  me  tell  thee ,  Beauseant ,  a  wise  proverb 
The  Arabs  have,  —  "  Curses  are  like  young  chickens, 

{Solemnly.) 
And  still  come  home  to  roost !  " 

BEAUSEANT. 

Their  happiness 
Maddens  my  soul !  I  am  powerless  and  revengeless ! 
{To  Madame.) 
you  joy  I   Ha  ,-ha  !   The  gardener's  son !  [ExlL 


SCE.NEII.]  OR    LOVE    A.\D    PRIDE.  71 

DAM  AS  [to  Glavis). 
Your  friend  intends  to  hang  himself!   Methinks 
You  ought  to  be  his  travelling  companion ! 

GLAVIS. 

Sir,  you  are  exceedingly  obliging  I  {Exit. 

PAULINE. 

Oh  I 
My  father,  you  are  saved ,  —  and  by  my  husband  I 
Ah  I  blessed  hour  I 

MELXOTTE. 

Yet  you  weep  still ,  Pauline  I 

PAULINE. 

But  on  thy  breast  I  —  the^e  tears  are  sweet  and  holy  I 

MO>S.  DESCHAP. 

You  have  won  love  and  honour  nobly.  Sir! 
Take  her :  —  be  happy  both ! 

MADA3IE    DESCHAP. 

I'm  all  astonish'd ! 
Who,  then,  is  Colonel  Morier? 

DAMAS. 

^  You  behold  him! 

3IELN0TTE. 

Morier  no  more  after  this  happy  day ! 

I  would  not  bear  again  my  father's  name 

Till  I  could  deem  it  spotless !  The  hour's  come  ! 

Heaven  smJled  on  Conscience !  As  the  soldier  rose 

From  rank  to  rank ,  how  sacred  was  the  fame 

That  cancell'd  crime ,  and  raised  him  nearer  thee ! 

MADAME    DESCHAP. 

A  colonel  and  a  hero !  Well ,  that's  something ! 
He's  wondrously  improved!   I  wish  you  joy.  Sir! 

MELNOTTE. 

Ah  !  the  same  love  that  tempts  us  into  sin  , 
If  it  be  true  love ,  works  out  its  redemption  ^ 
And  he  who  seeks  repentance  for  the  Past 
Should  woo  the  Angel  Virtue  in  the  Future ! 


THE    END. 


'•riastd^e  stamped  below.or 


i^ 


